10// 


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THE  CASTLE  INN 


By   STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 


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THE    ANSWER    WAS    A    BLINDING    FLASH    OE    LIGHT    AND    A    SHOT 

P.   l88 


THE  CASTLE  INN 


BY- 


STANLEY  J.  y^EYMAN 

AXJTHOR  OF  "  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE, 
"THE   HOUSE  OF  THE  WOLF,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
WALTER  APPLETON  CLARK 


NEW  YORK 
LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND  CO. 

LONDON   AND   BOMBAY 

1898 


1}' 


Copyright,  1898,  by 
LONGMANS,  GREEN  AND  CO. 


All  rights  reaerved 


Press  of  T.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  Knight-Errant      .......  1 

II.  A  Misadventure 13 

III.  Tutor  and  Pupils — Old  Style         ....  19 

IV.  Peeping  Tom  of  Wallingford         ....  33 
V.  The  Meeting 41 

VI.  A  Fish  Out  of  Water 51 

VII.  Achilles  and  Briseis        .        .        .     •  .        .        .63 

VIII.  The  Old  Bath  Road 74 

IX.  St.  George  and  the  Dragon 88 

X.  Mother  and  Son 98 

XI.  Dr.  Addington 104 

XII.  Julia 115 

XIII.  A  Spoiled  Child 125 

XIV.  A  Good  Man's  Dilemma 136 

XV.  Amoris  Integratio 144 

XVI.  The  Black  Fan 154 

XVII.  Mr.  Fishwick,  the  Arbiter 163 

XVIII.  The  Pursuit 169 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.  An  Unwilling  Ally     .        .        .        .        .        .179 

XX.  The  Empty  Post-Chaise 190 

XXI.  In  the  Carriage 200 

XXII.  Facilis  Descensus 212 

XXIII.  Bully  Pomeroy 223 

XXIV.  Cutting  for  the  Queen 235 

XXV.  Lord  Almeric's  Suit 244 

XXVI.  Boon  Companions 257 

XXVII.  Mr.  Fishwick's  Discovery 268 

XXVIII.  A  Rough  Awakening 281 

XXIX.  Mr.  Pomeroy's  Plan 290 

XXX.  A  Greek  Gift 296 

XXXI,  The  Inn  at  Chippenham 305 

XXXII.  Chance  Medley 315 

XXXIII.  In  the  Carriage 325 

XXXIV.  Bad  News 334 

XXXV.  Dormitat  Homerus 340 

XXXVI.  The  Attorney  Speaks 350 

XXXVII.  A  Handsome  Allowance 357 

XXXVIII.  The  Clerk  of  the  Leases 368 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


The    answer     was     a    blinding    flash    of    light     and 

A    shot         ........       Frontispiece 

TO    FACE    PAGE 

'  Tommy,  who  is — this — fellow  ? '  he  cried        .        .  .28 

'Your  ladyship's  most  humble  servant,'  he  said      .  .     93 

He  would  fall  silent  in   Julia's  company         .         ,  .  145 

'  And  drink  her,  you  envious  beggars  !  drink  her  ! '  .  241 

On  the  threshold,     .     .     .     stood  Mr.  Dunborough  .  322 


THE    CASTLE    INN 


CHAPTER  I 

A    KNIGHT-ERKANT 

About  a  hundred  and  thirty  years  ago,  when  the  third 
George,  whom  our  grandfathers  knew  in  his  blind  dotage, 
was  a  young  and  sturdy  bridegroom;  when  old  Q.,  whom 
1810  found  peering  from  his  balcony  in  Piccadilly,  deaf, 
toothless,  and  a  skeleton,  was  that  gay  and  lively  spark, 
the  Earl  of  March;  when  hore  and  boreish  were  words  of 
haut  ton,  unknown  to  the  vulgar,  and  the  price  of  a  bor- 
ough was  5,000Z. ;  Avhen  gibbets  still  served  for  sign-posts, 
and  railways  were  not  and  highwaymen  were — to  be  more 
exact,  in  the  early  spring  of  the  year  1767,  a  travelling 
chariot-and-four  drew  up  about  five  in  the  evening  before 
the  inn  at  Wheatley  Bridge,  a  short  stage  from  Oxford  on 
the  Oxford  road.  A  gig  and  a  couple  of  post-chaises, 
attended  by  the  customary  group  of  stablemen,  topers, 
and  gossips  already  stood  before  the  house,  but  these  were 
quickly  deserted  in  favour  of  the  more  important  equi- 
page. The  drawers  in  their  aprons  trooped  out,  but  the 
landlord,  foreseeing  a  rich  harvest,  was  first  at  the  door 
of  the  carriage,  and  opened  it  with  a  bow  such  as  is  rarely 
seen  in  these  days. 

'  Will  your  lordship  please  to  alight  ?  '  he  said. 

'No,  rascal!'  cried  one  of  those  within.  'Shut  the 
door  ! ' 


2  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Yoa  wish  fresh  horses,  ray  lord  ?  '  the  obsequious  host 
replied.     '  Of  course.     They  shall  be ' 

'  We  wish  nothing,'  was  the  brisk  answer.  '  D'ye  hear  ? 
Shut  the  door,  and  go  to  the  devil  ! ' 

Puzzled,  but  obedient,  the  landlord  fell  back  on  the 
servants,  who  had  descended  from  their  seat  in  front  and 
were  beating  their  hands  one  on  another,  for  the  March 
evening  was  chill.     '  What  is  up,  gentlemen  ?  '  he  said. 

'  Nothing.  But  we  will  put  something  down,  by  your 
leave,'  they  answered. 

'  Won't  they  do  the  same  ?  '  He  cocked  his  thumb  in 
the  direction  of  the  carriage. 

'  No.  You  have  such  an  infernal  bad  road,  the  dice 
roll,'  was  the  answer.  '  They  will  finish  their  game  in 
quiet.  That  is  all.  Lord,  how  your  folks  stare  !  Have 
they  never  seen  a  lord  before  ?  ' 

'  Who  is  ifc?  '  the  landlord  asked  eagerly.  '  I  thought 
I  knew  his  Grace's  face.' 

Before  the  servant  could  answer  or  satisfy  his  inquisi- 
tiveness,  the  door  of  the  carriage  was  opened  in  haste,  and 
the  landlord  sprang  to  offer  his  shoulder.  A  tall  young 
man  whose  shaped  riding-coat  failed  to  hide  that  which 
his  jewelled  hands  and  small  French  hat  would  alone  have 
betrayed — that  he  was  dressed  iu  the  height  of  fashion — 
stepped  down.  '  A  room  and  a  bottle  of  your  best  claret,' 
he  said.     '  And  bring  me  ink  and  a  pen.' 

'  Immediately,  my  lord.  This  way,  my  lord.  Your 
lordship  will  perhaps  honour  me  by  dining  here  ?  ' 

'  Lord,  no  !  Do  you  think  I  want  to  be  poisoned  ?  '  was 
the  frank  answer.  And  looking  about  him  with  languid 
curiosity,  the  young  peer,  followed  by  a  companion, 
lounged  into  the  house. 

The  third  traveller — for  three  there  were — by  a  gesture 
directed  the  servant  to  close  the  carriage  door,  and,  keep- 
ing his  seat,  gazed  sleepily  through  the  window.     The 


A   KNIGHT-ERRANT  3 

loitering  crowd,  standing  at  a  respectful  distance,  returned 
his  glances  with  interest,  until  an  empty  post-chaise,  ap- 
proaching from  the  direction  of  Oxford,  rattled  up  noisily 
and  split  the  group  asunder.  As  the  steaming  horses 
stopped  within  a  few  paces  of  the  chariot,  the  gentleman 
seated  in  the  latter  saw  one  of  the  ostlers  go  up  to  the 
post-chaise  and  heard  him  say,  '  Soon  back,  Jimmie  ?  ' 

'  Ay,  and  I  ha'  been  stopped  too, '  the  postboy  answered 
as  he  dropped  his  reins. 

'  No  ! '  in  a  tone  of  surprise.     '  Was  it  Black  Jack  ?  ' 

'  Not  he.     'Twas  a  woman  ! ' 

A  murmur  of  astonishment  greeted  the  answer.  The 
postboy  grinned,  and  sitting  easily  in  his  pad  prepared  to 
enjoy  the  situation.  '  Ay,  a  woman  ! '  he  said.  '  And  a 
rare  pair  of  eyes  to  that.  AVhat  do  you  think  she  wanted, 
lads  ? ' 

'  The  stuff,  of  course. ' 

'  Not  she.  Wanted  one  of  them  I  took  ' — and  he  jerked 
his  elbow  contemptuously  in  the  direction  whence  he  had 
come — '  to  fight  a  duel  for  her.  One  of  they !  Said,  was 
he  Mr.  Berkeley,  and  would  he  risk  his  life  for  a  woman.' 

The  head  ostler  stared.  'Lord!  and  who  was  it  he 
was  to  fight  ?  '  he  asked  at  last. 

'  She  did  not  say.  Her  spark  maybe,  that  has  jilted 
her.' 

'  And  would  they,  Jimmie  ?  ' 

'  They  ?  Shoo !  They  were  Methodists, '  the  postboy 
answered  contemptuously.  '  Scratch  wigs  and  snuff- 
colour.  If  she  had  not  been  next  door  to  a  Bess  of  Bed- 
lam and  in  a  main  tantrum,  she  would  have  seen  that. 
But  "  Are  you  Mr.  Berkeley?  "  she  says,  all  on  fire  like. 
And  "Will  you  fight  for  a  woman?"  And  when  they 
shrieked  out,  banged  the  door  on  them.  But  I  tell  you  she 
was  a  pretty  piece  as  you'd  wish  to  see.  If  she  had  asked 
me,  I  would  not  have  said  no  to  her.'     And  he  grinned. 


4  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

The  gentleman  in  the  chariot  opened  a  window. 
'  Where  did  she  stop  you,  my  man  ?  '  he  asked  idly. 

'Half  a  mile  this  side  of  Oxford,  your  worship,'  the 
postboy  answered,  knuckling  his  forehead.  '  Seemed  to 
me,  sir,  she  was  a  play  actress.  She  had  that  sort  of  way 
with  her.' 

The  gentleman  nodded  and  closed  the  window.  The 
night  had  so  far  set  in  that  they  had  brought  out  lights; 
as  he  sat  back,  one  of  these,  hung  in  the  carriage,  shone 
on  his  features  and  betrayed  that  he  was  smiling.  In  this 
mood  his  face  lost  the  air  of  affected  refinement — which 
was  then  the  mode,  and  went  perfectly  with  a  wig  and 
ruffles — and  aj)peared  in  its  true  cast,  plain  and  strong, 
3'et  not  uncdmely.  His  features  lacked  the  insipid  regu- 
larity which,  where  all  shaved,  passed  for  masculine 
beauty;  the  nose  ended  largely,  the  cheek-bones  were 
high,  and  the  chin  projected.  But  from  the  risk  and 
even  the  edge  of  ugliness  it  was  saved  by  a  pair  of  grey 
eyes,  keen,  humorous,  and  kindly,  and  a  smile  that 
showed  the  eyes  at  their  best.  Of  late  those  eyes  had 
been  known  to  express  weariness  and  satiety;  the  man 
was  tiring  of  the  round  of  costly  follies  and  aimless  amuse- 
ments in  which  he  passed  his  life.  But  at  twenty-six 
pepper  is  still  hot  in  the  mouth,  and  Sir  George  Soane 
continued  to  drink,  game,  and  fribble,  though  the  first 
pungent  flavour  of  those  delights  had  vanished,  and  the 
things  themselves  began  to  pall  upon  him. 

When  he  had  sat  thus  ten  minutes,  smiling  at  intervals, 
a  stir  about  the  door  announced  that  his  companions  were 
returning.  The  landlord  preceded  them,  and  was  re- 
warded for  his  pains  with  half  a  guinea;  the  crowd  with 
a  shower  of  small  silver.  The  postillions  cracked  their 
whips,  the  horses  started  forward,  and  amid  a  shrill  hur- 
rah my  lord's  carriage  rolled  away  from  the  door. 

'  Now,  who  casts  ? '  the  peer  cried  briskly,  arranging 


A  KNIOHT-ERRANT  5 

himself  iu  his  seat.  '  George,  I'll  set  you.  The  old 
stakes  ? ' 

'No,  I  am  done  for  to-night,'  Sir  George  answered 
yawning  without  disguise. 

'  What  !  crabbed,  dear  lad  ?  ' 

'  Ay,  set  Berkeley,  my  lord.  He's  a  better  match  for 
you.' 

'And  be  robbed  by  the  first  highwayman  we  meet? 
No,  no  !  I  told  you,  if  I  was  to  go  down  to  this  damp 
hole  of  mine — fancy  living  a  hundred  miles  from  White's! 
I  should  die  if  I  could  not  game  every  day — you  were  to 
play  with  me,  and  Berkeley  was  to  ensure  my  purse. ' 

'He  would  as  soon  take  it,'  Sir  George  answered  lan- 
guidly, gazing  through  the  glass.  * 

'  Sooner,  by !'  cried  the  third  traveller,  a  satur- 
nine, dark-faced  man  of  thirty-four  or  more,  who  sat  with 
his  back  to  the  horses,  and  toyed  with  a  pistol  that  lay 
on  the  seat  beside  him.     '  I'm  content  if  your  lordship  is. ' 

'Then  have  at  you!  Call  the  main,  Colonel.  You 
may  be  the  devil  among  the  highwaymen — that  was  Sel- 
wyn's  joke,  was  it  not? — but  I'll  see  the  colour  of  your 
money.' 

'  Beware  of  him.  He  doved  March,'  Sir  George  said 
indifferently. 

'  He  won't  strip  me,'  cried  the  young  lord.  '  Five  is 
the  main.  Five  to  four  he  throws  crabs  !  Will  you  take, 
George  ? ' 

Soane  did  not  answer,  and  the  two,  absorbed  in  the 
rattle  of  the  dice  and  the  turns  of  their  beloved  hazard, 
presently  forgot  him ;  his  lordship  being  the  deepest  plaj^er 
in  London  and  as  fit  a  successor  to  the  luckless  Lord 
Mountford  as  one  drop  of  water  to  another.  Thus  left 
to  himself,  and  as  effectually  screened  from  remark  as 
if  he  sat  alone.  Sir  George  devoted  himself  to  an  eager 
scrutiny  of  the  night,  looking  first  through  one  window 


6  THE  CASTLE  INN 

and  then  through  the  other;  in  whicli  he  persevered 
though  darkness  had  fallen  so  completely  that  only  the 
hedges  showed  in  the  lamjolight,  gliding  giddily  by  in 
endless  walls  of  white.  On  a  sudden  he  dropped  the  glass 
with  an  exclamation,  and  thrust  out  his  head. 
'  Pull  up  !  '  he  cried.  '  I  want  to  descend.' 
The  young  lord  uttered  a  joeevish  exclamation.  '  What 
is  to  do  ?  '  he  continued,  glancing  round ;  then,  instantly 
returning  to  the  dice,  '  if  it  is  my  purse  they  want,  say 
Berkeley  is  here.  That  will  scare  them.  What  are  you 
doing,  George  ? ' 

'Wait  a  minute,'  was  the  answer;  and  in  a  twinkling 
Soane  was  out,  and  was  ordering  the  servant,  who  had 
climbed  down,  to  close  the  door.  This  effected,  he  strode 
back  along  the  road  to  a  spot  where  a  figure,  cloaked  and 
hooded,  was  just  visible,  lurking  on  the  fringe  of  the 
lamplight.  As  he  approached  it,  he  raised  his  hat  with 
an  exaggeration  of  i^oliteness. 

'  Madam,'  he  said,  '  you  asked  for  me,  I  believe  ?  ' 
The  woman — for  a  woman  it  was,  though  he  could  see 
no  more  of  her  than  a  pale  face,  staring  set  and  Gorgon- 
like  from   under   the   hood — did   not   answer   at    once. 
Then,  '  Who  are  you  ?  '  she  said. 

'Colonel  Berkeley,'  he  answered  with  assurance,  and 
again  saluted  her. 

'  Who  killed  the  highwayman  at  Hounslow  last  Christ- 
mas ? '  she  cried. 

'The  same,  madam.' 

'  And  shot  Farnham  Joe  at  Eoehampton  ?  ' 
'  Yes,  madam.     And  much  at  your  service.' 
'We  shall  see,'  she  answered,  her  voice  savagely  dubi- 
ous.    '  At  least  you  are  a  gentleman  and  can  use  a  pistol  ? 
But  are  you  willing  to  risk  something  for  justice'  sake? ' 
'  And  the  sake  of  your  heaux  yeux,  madam  ? '  he  an- 
swered, a  laugh  in  his  voice.     '  Yes.' 


A   KNIGHT-ERRANT  7 

'  You  mean  it  ?  ' 

'  Prove  me/  he  answered. 

His  tone  was  ligbt;  but  the  woman,  who  seemed  to 
labour  under  strong  emotion,  either  failed  to  notice  this 
or  was  content  to  put  up  with  it.  '  Then  send  on  your 
carriage,'  she  said. 

His  jaw  fell  at  that,  and  had  there  been  light  by  which 
to  see  him  he  would  have  looked  foolish.  At  last,  '  Are 
we  to  Avalk  ?  '  he  said. 

'  Those  are  the  lights  of  Oxford,'  she  answered.  '  We 
shall  be  there  in  ten  minutes. ' 

'  Oh,  very  well,'  he  said.     '  A  moment,  if  you  please.' 

She  waited  while  he  went  to  the  carriage  and  told  the 
astonished  servants  to  leave  his  baggage  at  the  Mitre; 
this  understood,  he  put  in  his  head  and  announced  to  his 
host  that  he  would  come  on  next  day.  '  Your  lordship 
must  excuse  me  to-night,'  he  said. 

'  What  is  up  ?  '  my  lord  asked,  without  raising  his  eyes 
or  turning  his  head.  He  had  taken  the  box  and  thrown 
nicks  three  times  running,  at  five  guineas  the  cast;  and 
was  in  the  seventh  heaven.  '  Ha!  five  is  the  main.  Now 
you  are  in  it,  Colonel.  What  did  you  say,  George  ?  Not 
coming  !     What  is  it  ?  ' 

'  An  adventure.' 

'  What  !  a  petticoat  ?  ' 

'Yes,'  Sir  George  answered,  smirking. 

'  Well,  you  find  'em  in  odd  places.  Take  care  of  your- 
self. But  shut  the  door,  that  is  a  good  fellow.  There 
is  a  d- d  draught.' 

Sir  George  complied,  and,  nodding  to  the  servants, 
walked  back  to  the  woman.  As  he  reached  her  the  car- 
riage Avith  its  lights  whirled  away,  and  left  them  in  dark- 
ness. 

Soane  wondered  if  he  were  not  a  fool  for  his  pains,  and 
advanced  a  step  nearer  to  conviction  when    the  woman 


8  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

with  an  impatient  '  Come! '  started  along  the  road;  mov- 
ing at  a  smart  pace  in  the  direction  which  the  chariot  had 
taken,  and  betraying  so  little  shyness  or  timidity  as  to 
seem  unconscious  of  his  company.  The  neighbourhood 
of  Oxford  is  low  and  flat,  and  except  where  a  few  lights 
marked  the  outskirts  of  the  city  a  Avail  of  darkness  shut 
them  in,  permitting  nothing  to  be  seen  that  lay  more  than 
a  few  paces  away.  A  grey  drift  of  clouds,  luminous  in 
comparison  with  the  gloom  about  them,  moved  slowly 
overhead,  and  out  of  the  night  the  raving  of  a  farm-dog 
or  the  creaking  of  a  dry  bough  came  to  the  ear  with 
melancholy  effect. 

The  fine  gentleman  of  that  day  had  no  taste  for  the 
wild,  the  rugged,  or  the  lonely.  He  lived  too  near  the 
times  when  those  words  spelled  danger.  He  found  at 
Almack's  his  most  romantic  scene,  at  Eanelagh  his  terra 
incognita,  in  the  gardens  of  Versailles  his  ideal  of  the 
charming  and  picturesque.  Sir  George,  no  excepuon  to 
the  rule,  shivered  as  he  looked  round.  He  began  to  ex- 
perience a  revulsion  of  spirits;  and  to  consider  that,  for 
a  gentleman  who  owned  Lord  Chatham  for  a  patron,  and 
Avas  even  now  on  his  roundabout  Avay  to  join  that  minister 
— for  a  gentleman  whose  fortune,  though  crippled  and 
impaired,  was  still  tolerable,  and  who,  where  it  had  suf- 
fered, might  look  Avith  confidence  to  see  it  made  good  at 
the  public  expense — or  to  AAdiat  end  patrons  or  ministers? 
— he  began  to  reflect,  I  say,  that  for  such  an  one  to 
exchange  a  peer's  coach  and  good  company  for  a  night 
trudge  at  a  Avoman's  heels  Avas  a  folly,  better  befitting  a 
boy  at  school  than  a  man  of  his  years.  Not  that  he  had 
ever  been  so  wild  as  to  contemplate  anything  serious;  or 
from  the  first  had  entertained  the  most  remote  intention 
of  brawling  in  an  unknown  cause.  That  was  an  extrava- 
gance beyond  him;  and  he  doubted  if  the  girl  really  had 
it  in  her  mind.     The  only  adventure  he  had  proposed. 


A  KNIGHT-ERRANT  9 

when  he  left  the  carriage,  was  one  of  gallantry;  it  was 
the  only  adventure  then  in  vogue.  And  for  that,  now 
the  time  was  come,  and  the  incog^iita  and  he  were  as 
much  alone  as  the  most  ardent  lover  could  wish,  he  felt 
singularly  disinclined. 

True,  the  outline  of  her  cloak,  and  the  indications  of  a 
slender,  well-formed  shape  which  it  permitted  to  escape, 
satisfied  him  that  the  postboy  had  not  deceived  him;  but 
that  his  companion  was  both  young  and  handsome.  And 
with  this  and  his  bargain  it  was  to  be  supposed  he  would 
be  content.  But  the  pure  matter-of-factness  of  the  girl's 
manner,  her  silence,  and  her  uncompromising  attitude, 
as  she  walked  by  his  side,  cooled  whatever  ardour  her 
beauty  and  the  reflection  that  he  had  jockeyed  Berkeley 
were  calculated  to  arouse;  and  it  was  with  an  effort  that 
he  presently  lessened  the  distance  between  them. 

'  Et  vera  incessu  patuit  dea! '  he  said,  speaking  in  the 
tone  between  jest  and  earnest  which  he  had  used  before. 
'"And  all  the  goddess  in  her  step  appears. "  Which 
means  that  you  have  the  prettiest  walk  in  the  world,  my 
dear — but  whither  are  you  taking  me  ?  ' 

Sbe  went  steadily  on,  not  deigning  an  answer. 

'  But — my  charmer,  let  us  parley,'  he  remonstrated, 
striving  to  maintain  a  light  tone.  '  In  a  minute  we  shall 
be  in  the  town  and ' 

'I  thought  that  we  understood  one  another,' slie  an- 
swered curtly,  still  continuing  to  walk,  and  to  look 
straight  before  her;  in  which  position  her  hood  hid  her 
face.     '  I  am  taking  you  where  I  want  you.' 

'  Oh,  very  well,'  he  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  But 
under  his  breath  he  muttered,  '  By  heaven,  I  believe  that 
the  pretty  fool  really  thinks — that  I  am  going  to  fight  for 
her  !  ' 

To  a  man  who  had  supped  at  White's  the  night  before, 
and  knew  his  age  to  be  the  age  des  2yhilosophes,  it  seemed 


10  THE  CASTLE  INN 

the  wildest  fancy  in  tlie  world.  And  his  distaste  grew. 
But  to  break  off  and  leave  her — at  any  rate  until  he  had 
put  it  beyond  question  that  she  had  no  underthought — 
to  break  off  and  leave  her  after  jilacing  himself  in  a  situa- 
tion so  humiliating,  was  too  much  for  the  pride  of  a 
Macaroni.  The  lines  of  her  head  and  figure  too,  half 
guessed  and  half  revealed,  and  wholly  light  and  graceful, 
had  caught  his  fancy  and  created  a  desire  to  subjugate 
her.  Eeluctantly,  therefore,  he  continued  to  walk  beside 
her,  over  Magdalen  Bridge,  and  thence  by  a  path  which, 
skirting  the  city,  ran  across  the  low  wooded  meadows  at 
the  back  of  Mertou. 

A  little  to  the  right  the  squat  tower  of  the  college 
loomed  against  the  lighter  rack  of  clouds,  and  rising  amid 
the  dark  lines  of  trees  that  beautify  that  part  of  the  out- 
skirts, formed  a  coup  cVmil  sufficiently  impressive.  Here 
and  there,  in  such  of  the  chamber  windows  as  looked  over 
the  meadows,  lights  twinkled  cheerfully;  emboldened  by 
which,  yet  avoiding  their  scope,  pairs  of  lovers  of  the 
commoner  class  sneaked  to  and  fro  under  the  trees. 
Whether  the  presence  of  these  recalled  early  memories 
which  Sir  George's  fastidiousness  found  unpalatable,  or 
he  felt  his  fashion  smirched  by  the  vulgarity  of  this 
Venus- walk,  his  impatience  grew;  and  was  not  far  from 
bursting  forth  when  his  guide  turned  sharply  into  an 
alley  behind  the  cathedral,  and,  after  threading  a  lane 
of  mean  houses,  entered  a  small  court. 

The  place,  though  poor  and  narrow,  was  not  squalid. 
Sir  George  could  see  so  much  by  the  light  which  shone 
from  a  window  and  fell  on  a  group  of  five  or  six  persons, 
who  stood  about  the  nearest  door  and  talked  in  low, 
excited  voices.  He  had  a  good  view  of  one  man's  face, 
and  read  in  it  gloom  and  anger.  Then  the  group  made 
way  for  the  girl,  eyeing  her,  as  he  thought,  with  pity  and 
a  sort  of  deference;  and  cursing  the  folly  that  had  brought 


A  KNIOHT-ERRANT  11 

him  into  such  a  place  and  situation,  wondering  what  on 
earth  it  all  meant  or  in  what  it  would  end,  he  followed 
her  into  the  house. 

She  opened  a  door  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  nar- 
row passage,  and  led  the  way  into  a  long,  low  room.  For 
a  moment  he  saw  no  more  than  two  lights  on  a  distant 
table,  and  kneeling  at  a  chair  beside  them  a  woman  with 
grey  dishevelled  hair,  who  seemed  to  be  praying,  her  face 
hidden.  Then  his  gaze,  sinking  instinctively,  fell  on  a 
low  bed  betAveen  him  and  the  woman;  and  there  rested 
on  a  white  sheet,  and  on  the  solemn  outlines — so  certain 
in  their  rigidity,  so  unmistakable  by  human  eyes — of  a 
body  laid  out  for  burial. 


CHAPTEK   II 

A    MISADVENTURE 

To  be  brought  up  short  in  an  amorous  quest  by  such  a 
sight  as  that  was  a  shock  alike  to  Soane's  better  nature 
and  his  worse  dignity.  The  former  moved  him  to  stand 
silent  and  abashed,  the  latter  to  ask  with  an  indignant 
curse  why  he  had  been  brought  to  that  place.  And  the 
latter  lower  instinct  prevailed.  But  when  he  raised  his 
head  to  put  the  question  with  the  necessary  spirt  of  tem- 
per, he  found  that  the  girl  had  left  his  side  and  passed  to 
the  other  hand  of  the  dead  ;  where,  the  hood  thrown  back 
from  her  face,  she  stood  looking  at  him  with  such  a 
gloomy  fire  in  her  eyes  as  it  needed  but  a  word,  a  touch, 
a  glance  to  kindle  into  a  blaze. 

At  the  moment,  however,  he  thought  less  of  this  than 
of  the  beauty  of  the  face  which  he  saw  for  the  first  time. 
It  was  a  southern  face,  finely  moulded,  dark  and  passion- 
ate, full-lipped,  yet  wide  of  brow,  with  a  generous  breadth 
between  the  eyes.  Seldom  had  he  seen  a  woman  more 
beautiful ;  and  he  stood  silent,  the  words  he  had  been 
about  to  speak  dying  stillborn  on  his  lips. 

Yet  she  seemed  to  understand  them;  she  answered 
them.  '  Why  have  I  brought  you  here  ?  '  she  cried,  her 
voice  trembling;  and  she  pointed  to  the  bed.  'Because 
he  is — he  was  my  father.  And  he  lies  there.  And  be- 
cause the  man  who  killed  him  goes  free.  And  I  Avould — 
I  would  kill  him  !    Do  you  hear  me  ?    I  would  kill  him ! ' 

Sir  George  tried  to  free  his  mind  from  the  influence 


A   MISADVENTURE  13 

of  lier  passion  and  her  eyes,  from  the  nightmare  of  the 
room  and  the  body,  and  to  see  things  in  a  sane  light. 
'But — my  good  girl,'  he  said,  slowly  and  not  unkindly, 
'I  know  nothing  about  it.  Nothing.  I  am  a  stranger 
here. ' 

'  For  that  reason  I  brought  you  here,'  she  retorted. 

'  But — I  cannot  interfere,'  he  answered,  shaking  his 
head.  '  There  is  the  law.  You  must  apply  to  it.  The 
law  will  punish  the  man  if  he  has  done  wrong.' 

'But  the  law  will  not  punish  him!'  she  cried  with 
scorn.  '  The  law  ?  The  law  is  your  law,  the  law  of  the 
rich.  And  he  ' — she  pointed  to  the  bed — '  was  poor  and 
a  servant.  And  the  man  who  killed  him  was  his  master. 
So  he  goes  free — of  the  law  !  ' 

'  But  if  he  killed  him  ?  '  Sir  George  muttered  lamely. 

'  He  did! '  she  cried  between  her  teeth.  '  And  I  would 
have  you  kill  him ! ' 

He  shook  his  head.  'My  good  girl,'  he  said  kindly, 
'you  are  distraught.  You  are  not  yourself.  Or  you 
would  know  a  gentleman  does  not  do  these  things.' 

'  A  gentleman  ! '  she  retorted,  her  smouldering  rage 
flaming  up  at  last.  '  No  ;  but  I  will  tell  you  what  he 
does.  He  kills  a  man  to  save  his  purse!  Or  his  honour! 
Or  for  a  mis-word  at  cards!  Or  the  lie  given  in  drink! 
He  will  run  a  man  through  in  a  dark  room,  Avitli  no  one 
to  see  fair  play  !  But  for  drawing  his  sword  to  help  a 
woman,  or  avenge  a  wrong,  a  gentleman — a  gentleman 
does  not  do  these  things.     It  is  true!     And  may ' 

'  Oh,  have  done,  have  done,  my  dear! '  cried  a  wailing, 
tearful  voice;  and  Sir  George,  almost  cowed  by  the  girl's 
fierce  words  and  the  fiercer  execration  that  was  on  her 
lips,  hailed  the  intervention  with  relief.  The  woman 
whom  he  had  seen  on  her  knees  had  risen  and  now  ap- 
proached the  girl,  showing  a  face  wrinkled,  worn,  and 
plain,  but  not  ignoble;  and  for  the  time  lifted  above  the 


14  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

commonplace  by  the  tears  that  rained  down  it.  '  Oh, 
my  lovey,  have  done,'  she  cried.  'And  let  the  gentle- 
man go.  To  kill  another  will  not  help  him  that  is  dead. 
Nor  us  that  are  left  alone! ' 

*  It  will  not  help  him ! '  the  girl  answered,  shrilly  and 
wildly;  and  her  eyes,  leaving  Soane,  strayed  round  the 
room  as  if  she  were  that  moment  awakened  and  missed 
some  one.  '  No !  But  is  he  to  be  murdered,  and  no  one 
suffer  ?  Is  he  to  die  and  no  one  pay  ?  He  who  had  a 
smile  for  us,  go  in  or  out,  and  never  a  harsh  word  or 
thought ;  who  never  did  any  man  wrong  or  wished  any 
man  ill?  Yet  he  lies  there  !  Oh,  mother,  mother,'  she 
continued,  her  voice  broken  on  a  sudden  by  a  tremor  of 
pain,  '  we  are  alone!  "We  are  alone!  "We  shall  never  see 
him  come  in  at  that  door  again ! ' 

The  old  woman  sobbed  helplessly  and  made  no  answer; 
on  which  the  girl,  with  a  gesture  as  simple  as  it  was  beau- 
tiful, drew  the  grey  head  to  her  shoulder.  Then  she 
looked  at  Sir  George.  'Go,'  she  said;  but  he  saw  that 
the  tears  were  welling  up  in  her  eyes,  and  that  her  frame 
was  beginning  to  tremble.  '  Go !  I  was  not  myself — a 
while  ago — when  I  fetched  you.     Go,  sir,  and  leave  us.' 

Moved  by  the  abrupt  change,  as  well  as  by  her  beauty. 
Sir  George  lingered;  muttering  that  perhaps  he  could 
help  her  in  another  way.  But  she  shook  her  head,  once 
and  again;  and,  instinctively  respecting  the  grief  which 
had  found  at  length  its  proj)er  vent,  he  turned  and, 
softly  lifting  the  latch,  went  out  into  the  court. 

The  night  air  cooled  his  brow,  and  recalled  him  to 
sober  earnest  and  the  eighteenth  century.  In  the  room 
which  he  had  left,  he  had  marked  nothing  out  of  the 
common  except  the  girl.  The  mother,  the  furniture,  the 
very  bed  on  which  the  dead  man  lay,  all  were  appropriate, 
and  such  as  he  would  expect  to  find  in  the  house  of  his 
under-steward.     But  the  girl  ?     The  girl  was  gloriously 


A  MISADVENTURE  15 

handsome  ;  and  as  eccentric  as  she  was  beautiful.  Sir 
George's  head  turned  and  his  eyes  glowed  as  he  thought 
of  her.  He  considered  what  a  story  he  could  make  of  it 
at  White's;  and  he  put  up  his  spyiug-glass,  and  looked^ 
through  it  to  see  if  the  towers  of  the  cathedral  still  over- 
hung the  court.  'Gad,  sir!'  he  said  aloud,  rehearsing 
the  story,  as  much  to  get  rid  of  an  unfashionable  sensa- 
tion he  had  in  his  throat  as  in  pure  whimsy,  '  I  was  sur- 
prised to  find  that  it  was  Oxford.  It  should  have  been 
Granada,  or  Bagdad,  or  Florence  !  I  give  you  my  word, 
the  houris  that  the  Montagu  saw  in  the  Hammam  at 
Stamboul  were  nothing  to  her  !  ' 

The  persons  through  whom  he  had  passed  on  his  way 
to  the  door  were  still  standing  before  the  house.  Glan- 
cing back  when  he  had  reached  the  mouth  of  the  court, 
he  saw  that  they  were  watching  him;  and,  obeying  a 
sudden  impulse  of  curiosity,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
signed  to  the  nearest  to  come  to  him.  '  Here,  my  man,' 
he  said,  'a  word  with  you.' 

Tlie  fellow  moved  towards  him  reluctantly,  and  with 
sLisi^icion.  '  Who  is  it  lies  dead  there  ? '  Sir  George 
asked. 

'  Your  honour  knows,'  the  man  answered  cautiously. 

'No,  I  don't.' 

'  Then  you  will  be  the  only  one  in  Oxford  that  does 
not,'  the  fellow  replied,  eyeing  him  oddly. 

'  Maybe,' Soane  answered  with  impatience.  'Take  it 
so,  and  answer  the  question.' 

'  It  is  Masterson,  that  was  the  porter  at  Pembroke.' 

'  Ah !     And  how  did  he  die  ?  ' 

'That  is  asking,'  the  man  answered,  looking  shiftily 
about.  '  And  it  is  an  ill  business,  and  I  want  no  trouble. 
Oh,  well' — he  continued,  as  Sir  George  put  something 
in  his  hand — '  thank  your  honour,  I'll  drink  your  health. 
Yes,  it  is  Masterson,  poor  man,  sure  enough;   and  two 


16  THE  CASTLE  INN 

days  ago  he  was  as  well  as  you  or  I — saving  your  presence. 
He  was  on  the  gate  that  evening,  and  there  was  a  supper 
on  one  of  the  staircases:  all  the  bloods  of  the  College, 
your  honour  will  understand.  About  an  hour  before 
midnight  the  Master  sent  him  to  tell  the  geatlemen  he 
could  not  sleep  for  the  noise.  After  that  it  is  not  known 
just  what  happened,  but  the  party  had  him  in  and  gave 
him  wine;  and  whether  he  went  then  and  returned  again 
when  the  company  were  gone  is  a  question.  Any  way, 
he  was  found  in  the  morning,  cold  and  dead  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  and  his  neck  broken.  It  is  said  by  some  a 
trap  was  laid  for  him  on  the  staircase.  And  if  it  was,' 
the  man  continued,  after  a  pause,  his  true  feeling  finding 
sudden  vent,  '  it  is  a  black  shame  that  the  law  does  not 
punish  it  !     But  the  coroner  brought  it  in  an  accident.' 

Sir  George  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Then,  moved  by 
curiosity  and  a  desire  to  learn  somethiag  about  the  girl, 
'  His  daughter  takes  it  hardly,'  he  said. 

The  man  grunted.  'Ah,'  he  said,  'maybe  she  has 
need  to.     Your  honour  does  not  come  from  him?  ' 

'  From  whom  ?     I  come  from  no  one.' 

'  To  be  sure,  sir,  I  was  forgetting.  But,  seeing  you 
with  her — but  there,  you  are  a  stranger. ' 

Soane  would  have  liked  to  ask  him  his  meaning,  but 
felt  that  he  had  condescended  enough.  He  bade  the  man 
a  curt  good-night,  therefore,  and  turning  away  passed 
quickly  into  St.  Aldate's  Street.  Thence  it  was  but  a 
step  to  the  Mitre,  where  he  found  his  baggage  and  servant 
awaiting  him. 

In  those  days  distinctions  of  dress  were  still  clear  and 
unmistakable.  Between  the  peruke — often  forty  guineas' 
worth — the  tie-wig,  the  scratch,  and  the  man  who  went 
content  with  a  little  powder,  the  intervals  were  measur- 
able. Euffles  cost  five  pounds  a  pair;  and  velvets  and 
silks,  cut  probably  in  Paris,  were  morning  wear.     More- 


A  MISADVENTURE  17 

over,  the  dress  of  the  man  who  lost  or  won  his  thousand 
in  a  night  at  Almack's,  and  was  equally  well  known  at 
Madame  du  Deffand's  in  Paris  and  at  Holland  House, 
differed  as  much  from  the  dress  of  the  ordinary  well-to-do 
gentleman  as  that  again  differed  from  the  lawyer's  or  the 
doctor's.  The  Mitre,  therefore,  saw  in  Sir  George  a  very 
fine  gentleman  indeed,  set  him  down  to  an  excellent 
supper  in  its  best  room,  and  jjromised  a  post-chaise-and- 
four  for  the  following  morning — all  with  much  bowing 
and  scraping,  and  much  mention  of  my  lord  to  whose 
house  he  would  post.  For  in  those  days,  if  a  fine  gentle- 
man was  a  very  fine  gentleman,  a  peer  was  also  a  peer. 
Quite  recently  they  had  ventured  to  hang  one;  but  with 
apologies,  a  laudau-and-six,  and  a  silken  halter. 

Sir  George  would  not  have  had  the  least  pretension  to 
be  the  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form,  which  St. 
James's  Street  considered  him,  if  he  had  failed  to  give  a 
large  share  of  his  thoughts  while  he  supped  to  the  beau- 
tiful woman  he  had  quitted.  He  knew  very  well  what 
steps  Lord  March  or  Tom  Hervey  would  take,  were  either 
in  his  place;  and  though  he  had  no  greater  taste  for  an 
irregular  life  than  became  a  man  in  his  station  who  was 
neither  a  Methodist  nor  Lord  Dartmouth,  he  allowed  his 
thoughts  to  dwell,  jDerhaps  longer  than  was  prudent,  on 
the  girl's  i:)erfections,  and  on  what  might  have  been  were 
his  heart  a  little  harder,  or  the  not  over-rigid  rule  which 
he  observed  a  trifle  less  stringent.  The  father  was  dead. 
The  girl  was  poor;  probably  her  ideal  of  a  gallant  was  a 
College  beau,  in  second-hand  lace  and  stained  linen, 
drunk  on  ale  in  the  forenoon.  Was  it  likely  that  the 
fortress  would  hold  out  long,  or  that  the  maiden's  heart 
would  prove  to  be  more  obdurate  than  Daniie's  ? 

Soane,  considering  these  things  and  his  self-denial, 
grew  irritable  over  his  Chambertin.  He  pictured  Lord 
March's  friend,  the  Rena,  and  found  this  girl  immeasur- 
2 


18  THE  CASTLE  INN 

ably  before  her.  He  painted  tlie  sensation  she  would 
make  and  the  fashion  he  could  give  her,  and  vowed  that 
she  was  a  Gunning  with  sense  and  wit  added ;  to  sum  up 
all,  he  blamed  himself  for  a  saint  and  a  Scipio.  Then, 
late  as  it  was,  he  sent  for  the  landlord,  and  to  get  rid  of 
his  thoughts,  or  in  pursuance  of  'them,  inquired  of  that 
worthy  if  Mr.  Thomasson  was  in  residence  at  Pembroke. 

'Yes,  Sir  George,  he  is,'  the  landlord  answered;  and 
asked  if  he  should  send  for  his  reverence. 

'No,'  Soane  commanded.  'If  there  is  a  chair  to  be 
had,  I  will  go  to  him.' 

'  There  is  one  below,  at  your  honour's  service.  And 
the  men  are  waiting.' 

So  Sir  George,  with  the  landlord  lighting  him  and  his 
man  attending  with  his  cloak,  descended  the  stairs  in 
state,  entered  the  sedan,  and  was  carried  off  to  Pembroke. 


CHAPTER  III 

TUTOR    AND    PUPILS — OLD    STYLE 

Doctor  Samuel  Johistsox,  of  Johnson's  Court,  Fleet 
Street,  had  at  this  time  some  name  in  the  world;  but  not 
to  the  pitch  that  persons  entering  Pembroke  College  has- 
tened to  pay  reverence  to  the  second  floor  over  the  gate- 
way, which  he  had  vacated  thirty  years  earlier — as  persons 
do  now.  Their  gaze,  as  a  rule,  rose  no  higher  than  the 
first-floor  oriel,  where  the  shapely  white  shoulder  of  a 
Parian  statue,  enhanced  by  a  background  of  dark-blue 
silken  hanging,  caught  the  wandering  eye.  What  this 
lacked  of  luxury  and  mystery  was  made  up — almost  to 
the  Medmenham  point  in  the  eyes  of  the  city — by  the 
gleam  of  girandoles,  and  the  glow,  rather  felt  than  seen, 
of  Titian-copies  in  Florence  frames.  Sir  George,  borne 
along  in  his  chair,  peered  up  at  this  well-known  window 
— well-known,  since  in  the  Oxford  of  1767  a  man's  rooms 
were  furnished  if  he  had  tables  and  chairs,  store  of  beef 
and  October,  an  apj^le-pie  and  Common  Room  port — and 
seeing  the  casement  brilliantly  lighted,  smiled  a  trifle 
contemptuously. 

'The  Reverend  Frederick  is  not  much  changed,'  he 
muttered.  '  Lord,  what  a  beast  it  was  !  And  how  we 
hazed  him!  Ah!  At  home,  is  he?' — this  to  the  ser- 
vant, as  the  man  lifted  the  head  of  the  chair.  '  Yes,  I 
will  go  up.' 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  Reverend  Frederick  Thomasson 
had  so  keen  a  scent  for  Gold  Tufts  or  aught  akin  to  them. 


20  THE   CASTLE  INN 

that  it  would  have  been  strange  if  the  instinct  had  not 
kept  him  at  home;  as  a  magnet,  though  unseen,  attracts 
the  needle.  The  same  prepossession  brought  him,  as 
soon  as  he  heard  of  his  visitor's  approach,  hurrying  to 
the  head  of  the  stairs  ;  Avhere,  if  he  had  had  his  way, 
he  would  have  clasped  the  baronet  in  his  arms,  slobbered 
over  him,  after  the  mode  of  Paris — for  that  was  a  trick 
of  his — and  perhaj^s  even  wept  on  his  shoulder.  But 
Soane,  Avho  knew  his  ways,  coolly  defeated  the  manoeuvre 
by  fending  him  off  with  his  cane;  and  the  Eeverend 
Frederick  was  reduced  to  raising  his  eyes  and  hands  to 
heaven  in  token  of  the  joy  which  filled  him  at  the  sight 
of  his  old  i3upil. 

'Lord  !  Sir  George,  I  am  inexpressibly  happy  !  '  he 
cried.  '  My  dear  sir,  my  very  dear  sir,  welcome  to  my 
poor  rooms  !  This  is  joy  indeed  !  Gaudeamus  !  Gaude- 
amus  !  To  see  you  once  more,  fresh  from  the  groves  of 
Arthur's  and  the  scenes  of  your  triumphs  !  Pardon  me, 
my  dear  sir,  I  must  and  will  shake  you  by  the  hand 
again  ! '  And  succeeding  at  last  in  seizing  Sir  George's 
hand,  he  fondled  and  patted  it  in  both  of  his — which 
were  fat  and  white — the  while  with  every  mark  of  emo- 
tion he  led  him  into  the  room. 

'  Gad  ! '  said  Sir  George,  standing  and  looking  round. 
'  And  where  is  she.  Tommy  ?  ' 

'  That  old  name  !  What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  hear  it  ! ' 
cried  the  tutor,  affecting  to  touch  his  eyes  with  the  corner 
of  a  dainty  handkerchief  ;  as  if  the  gratification  he  men- 
tioned were  too  much  for  his  feelings. 

'But,  seriously.  Tommy,  where  is  she ?  '  Soane  per- 
sisted, still  looking  round  with  a  grin. 

'  My  dear  Sir  George  !  My  honoured  friend  !  But  you 
would  always  have  your  joke. ' 

'  And,  plainly,  Tommy,  is  all  this  frippery  yours  ?  ' 

*  Tut,  tnt!'  Mr.  Thomasson  remonstrated.     'And  no 


TUTOR  AND  PUPILS- OLD  STYLE  21 

man  with  a  finer  taste.  I  have  heard  Mr.  Walpole  say 
that  with  a  little  training  no  man  would  excel  Sir  George 
Soane  as  a  connoisseur.  An  exquisite  eye  !  A  nice  dis- 
crimination !     A ' 

'  JSTow,  Tommy,  to  how  many  people  have  you  said 
that  V  Sir  George  retorted,  dropping  into  a  chair,  and 
coolly  staring  about  him.  '  But,  there,  have  done, 
and  tell  me  about  yourself.  Who  is  the  last  sprig  of 
nobility  you  have  been  training  in  the  way  it  should 
grow  ? ' 

'The  last  pupil  who  honoured  me,'  the  Eeverend 
Frederick  answered,  '  as  you  are  so  kind  as  to  ask  after 

my  poor  concerns.  Sir  George,  was  my  Lord  E 's  son. 

We  went  to  Paris,  Marseilles,  Genoa,  FJorence;  visited 
the  mighty  monuments  of  Kome,  and  came  home  by  way 
of  Venice,  Milan,  and  Turin.  I  treasure  the  copy  of  Tin- 
toretto which  you  see  there,  and  these  bronzes,  as  memo- 
rials of  my  lord's  munificence.  I  brought  them  back 
with  me.' 

'  And  what  did  my  lord's  son  bring  back  ?  '  Sir  George 
asked,  cruelly.    '  A  Midianitish  woman  ?  ' 

'  My  honoured  friend! '  Mr.  Tliomasson  remonstrated. 
'  Bat  your  wit  was  always  mordant — mordant!  Too  keen 
for  us  poor  folk  ! ' 

'D'ye  remember  the  inn  at  Cologne,  Tommy?'  Sir 
George  continued,  mischievously  reminiscent.  '  And 
Lord  Tony  arriving  with  his  charmer  ?  And  you  giving 
up  your  room  to  her  ?  And  the  trick  we  played  you  at 
Calais,  where  we  passed  the  little  French  dancer  on  you 
for  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Personne  ?  ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  winced,  and  a  tinge  of  colour  rose  in 
his  fat  pale  face.  '  Boys,  boys  ! '  he  said,  with  an  airy 
gesture.  '  You  had  an  uncommon  fancy  even  then,  Sir 
George,  though  you  were  but  a  year  from  school  !  Ah, 
those  were  charming  days  !     Great  days  ! ' 


22  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  And  nights  ! '  said  Sir  George,  lying  back  in  liis  chair 
and  looking  at  the  other  with  eyes  half  shut,  and  inso- 
leuce  half  veiled.  '  Do  you  remember  the  faro  bank  at 
Florence,  Tommy,  and  the  three  hundred  livres  you  lost 
to  that  old  harridan,  Lady  Harrington?  Pearls  cast 
before  swine  you  st3ied  them,  I  remember.' 

'  Lord,  Sir  George  !^  Mr.  Thomasson  cried,  vastly  horri- 
fied. '  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing  ?  Your  excellent 
memory  plays  you  false.' 

'It  does,'  Soane  answered,  smiling  sardonically.  'I 
remember.  It  was  seed  sown  for  the  harvest,  5"ou  called 
it — in  your  liquor.  And  that  touches  me.  Do  you  mind 
the  night  Fitzhugh  made  you  so  prodigiously  drunk  at 
Bonn,  Tommy  ?  And  we  put  you  in  the  kneading-trough, 
and  the  servants  found  you  and  shifted  you  to  the  horse- 
trough  ?  Gad!  you  would  have  died  of  laughter  if  you 
could  have  seen  yourself  when  we  rescued  yon,  lank  and 
dripping,  with  your  wig  like  a  sponge  !  ' 

'  It  must  have  been — uncommonly  diverting! '  the  Eev- 
erend  Frederick  stammered;  and  he  smiled  widely,  but 
with  a  lack  of  heart.  This  time  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  the  pinkness  that  overs^jread  his  face. 

'Diverting?  I  tell  you  it  would  have  made  old  Dart- 
mouth laugh  !  '  Sir  George  said  bluntly. 

'  Ha,  ha!  Perhaps  it  would.  Perhaps  it  would.  Not 
that  I  have  the  honour  of  his  lordship's  acquaintance.' 

'  No  ?  Well,  he  would  not  suit  you.  Tommy.  I  would 
not  seek  it.' 

The  Eeverend  Frederick  looked  doubtful,  as  weighing 
the  possibility  of  anything  that  bore  the  name  of  lord 
being  alien  from  him.  From  this  reflection,  however,  he 
was  roused  by  a  new  sally  on  Soane's  part.  '  But,  crib 
me  !  you  are  very  fine  to-night,  Mr.  Thomasson,'  he  said, 
staring  about  him  afresh.  'Ten  o'clock,  and  you  are 
licrhted  as  for  a  drum !     What  is  afoot  ?  ' 


TUTOR  AND  PUPILS— OLD  STYLE  23 

The  tutor  smirked  and  rubbed  his  hands.  ''  ^^'ell,  I — I 
was  expecting  a  visitor.  Sir  George.' 

'  Ah,  you  dog  !  She  is  not  here,  but  you  are  expecting 
her. ' 

Mr.  Thomasson grinned;  the  jest  flattered  him.  Never- 
theless he  hastened  to  exonerate  himself.  '  It  is  not  Venus 
I  am  expecting,  but  Mars,'  he  said  with  a  simper.  '  The 
Honourable  Mr.  Dunborough,  son  to  my  Lord  Dunbor- 
ough,  and  the  same  whose  meritorious  services  at  the 
Havanna  you,  my  dear  friend,  doubtless  remember.  He 
is  now  cultivating  in  peace  the  gifts  which  in  war ' 

'  Sufficed  to  keep  him  out  of  danger! '  Sir  George  said 
bluntly.  '  So  he  is  your  last  sprig,  is  he  ?  He  should  be 
well  seasoned.' 

'He  is  four-and-twenty,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered, 
pluming  himself  and  speaking  in  his  softest  tones.  '  And 
the  most  charming,  I  assure  you,  the  most  debonair  of 
men.     But  do  I  hear  a  noise  ?  ' 

'  Yes,'  said  Sir  George,  listening.     '  I  hear  something.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  rose.  '  What — what  is  it,  I  wonder  ?  ' 
he  said,  a  trifle  nervously.  A  dull  sound,  as  of  a  hive  of 
bees  stirred  to  anger,  was  becoming  audible. 

'  Devil  if  I  know  ! '  Sir  George  answered.  '  Open  the 
window.' 

But  the  Reverend  Frederick,  after  approaching  the 
window  with  the  intention  of  doing  so,  seemed  disinclined 
to  go  nearer,  and  hovered  about  it.  '  Really,'  he  said,  no 
longer  hiding  his  discomposure.  '  I  fear  that  it  is  some- 
thing— something  in  the  nature  of  a  riot.  I  fear  that 
that  which  I  anticipated  has  happened.  If  my  honour- 
able friend  had  only  taken  my  advice  and  remained  here! ' 
And  he  wrung  his  hands  witiiout  disguise. 

'  Why,  what  has  he  to  do  with  it?  '  Soane  asked, curi- 
ously. 

'He — he  had  an  accident  the  other  nisrht,'  Mr.  Thorn- 


24  THE  CASTLE  INN 

asson  answered.  '  A  monstrous  nuisance  for  him.  He 
and  his  noble  friend,  Lord  Almeric  Doyley,  played  a  little 
trick  on  a — on  one  of  the  College  servants.  The  clumsy 
fellow — it  is  marvellous  how  awkward  that  class  of  persons 
is — fell  down  the  stairs  and  hurt  himself.' 

'  Seriously  ? ' 

'  Somewhat.  Indeed — in  fact  he  is  dead.  And  now 
there  is  a  kind  of  feeling  about  it  in  the  town.  I  per- 
suaded Mr.  Duuborough  to  take  up  his  quarters  here 
for  the  night,  but  he  is  so  spirited  he  would  dine  abroad. 
Now  I  fear,  I  really  fear,  he  may  be  in  trouble ! ' 

'  If  it  is  he  they  are  hooting  in  St.  Aldate's,'  Sir  George 
answered  drily,  '  I  should  say  he  was  in  trouble  !  But  in 
my  time  the  gownsmen  would  have  sallied  out  and  brought 
him  off  before  this.  And  given  those  yelpers  a  cracked 
crown  or  two  !  ' 

The  roar  of  voices  in  the  narrow  sti'eets  was  growing 
clearer  and  more  threatening.  '  Ye-es  ?  '  said  the  Rev- 
erend Frederick,  moving  about  the  room,  distracted  be- 
tween his  anxiety  and  his  respect  for  his  companion. 
'  Perhaps  so.  But  there  is  a  monstrous  low,  vulgar  set  in 
College  nowadays  ;  a  man  of  spirit  has  no  chance  with 
them.  Yesterday  they  had  the  insolence  to  break  into 
my  noble  friend's  rooms  and  throw  his  furniture  out  of 

window  !     And,  I  vow,  would  have  gone  on  to but 

Lord!  this  is  frightful!  What  a  shocking  howling!  My 
dear  sir,  my  very  dear  Sir  George,'  Mr.  Thomasson  con- 
tinued, his  voice  tremulous  and  his  fat  cheeks  grown  on 
a  sudden  loose  and  flabby,  '  do  you  think  that  there  is 
any  danger  ? ' 

'Danger?'  Sir  George  answered,  with  cruel  relish — he 
had  gone  to  the  window,  and  was  looking  out.  'Well, 
I  should  say  that  Madam  Venus  there  would  certainly 
have  to  stand  shot.  If  you  are  wise  you  will  put  out 
some  of  those  candles.     They  are  entering  the  lane  now. 


TUTOR  AND  PUPILS— OLD  STYLE  25 

G-ad,  Tommy,  if  they  think  your  lad  of  spirit  is  here,  I 
would  not  give  much  for  your  window-glass  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson,  who  had  hastened  to  take  the  advice, 
and  had  extinguished  all  the  candles  but  one,  thus  re- 
ducing the  room  to  partial  darkness,  wrung  his  hands 
and  moaned  for  answer.     '  Where  are  the  proctors  ?  '  he 

said.     'Where  are  the  constables?     Where  are  the 

Oh,  dear,  dear,  this  is  dreadful  ! ' 

And  certainly,  even  in  a  man  of  firmer  courage  a  little 
trepidation  might  have  been  pardoned.  As  the  unseen 
crowd,  struggling  and  jostling,  poured  from  the  roadway 
of  St.  Aldate's  into  the  narrow  confines  of  Pembroke 
Lane,  the  sound  of  its  hooting  gathered  sudden  volume, 
and  from  an  intermittent  murmur,  as  of  a  remote  sea, 
swelled  in  a  moment  into  a  roar  of  menace.  And  as  a 
mob  is  capable  of  deeds  from  which  the  members  who 
compose  it  would  severally  shrink,  as  nothing  is  so  piti- 
less, nothing  so  unreasoning,  so  in  the  sound  of  its  voice 
is  a  note  that  a^^pals  all  but  the  hardiest.  Soane  was  no 
coward.  A  year  before  he  had  been  present  at  the  siege 
of  Bedford  House  by  the  Spitalfields  weavers,  where 
swords  were  drawn  and  much  blood  was  spilled,  while 
the  gentlemen  of  the  clubs  and  cofEee-houses  looked  on 
as  at  a  play;  but  even  he  felt  a  slackening  of  the  pulse  as 
he  listened.  And  with  the  Reverend  Frederick  it  was 
different.  He  was  not  framed  for  danger.  When  the 
smoking  glare  of  the  links  which  the  ringleaders  carried 
began  to  dance  and  flicker  on  the  opposite  houses,  he 
looked  about  him  with  a  wild  eye,  and  had  already  taken 
two  steps  towards  the  door,  when  it  opened. 

It  admitted  two  men  about  Sir  George's  age,  or  a  little 
younger.  One,  after  glancing  round,  passed  hurriedly  to 
the  window  and  looked  oat;  the  other  sank  into  the 
nearest  chair,  and,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat,  muttei'ed 
a  querulous  oath. 


26  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  My  dear  lord ! '  cried  the  Reverend  Frederick,  hasten- 
ing to  his  side — and  it  is  noteworthy  that  he  forgot  even 
his  panic  in  the  old  habit  of  reverence — '  What  an  escape! 
To  think  that  a  life  so  valuable  as  your  lordship's  should 
lie  at  the  mercy  of  those  wretches  !  I  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  what  might  have  happened.' 

'Fan  me,  Tommy,'  was  the  answer.  And  Lord  Al- 
meric,  an  excessively  pale,  excessively  thin  young  man, 
handed  his  hat  with  a  gesture  of  exhaustion  to  the  obse- 
quious tutor.  '  Fan  me;  that  is  a  good  soul.  Positively 
I  am  suffocated  with  the  smell  of  those  creatures!  Worse 
than  horses,  I  assure  you.  There,  again!  What  a  pother 
about  a  common  fellow  !  'Pon  honour,  I  don't  know 
what  the  world  is  coming  to  !  ' 

'Nor  I,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered,  hanging  over  him 
with  assiduity  and  concern  on  his  countenance.  '  It  is 
not  to  be  comprehended.' 

'No,  'pon  honour  it  is  not!'  my  lord  agreed.  And 
then,  feeling  a  little  recovered,  '  Dunborough,'  he  asked, 
'  what  are  they  doing  ?  ' 

'Hanging  you,  my  dear  fellow!'  the  other  answered 
from  the  window,  where  he  had  taken  his  place  within  a 
pace  of  Soane,  but  without  discovering  him.  He  spoke 
in  the  full  boisterous  toue  of  one  in  perfect  health  and 
spirits,  perfectly  satisfied  with  himself,  and  perfectly 
heedless  of  others. 

'Oh,  I  say,  you  are  joking?'  my  lord  answered. 
'  Hanging  me  ?     Oh,  ah !     I  see.     In  effigy !  ' 

'And  your  humble  servant,'  said  Mr.  Dunborough. 
'  I  tell  you.  Tommy,  we  had  a  near  run  for  it.  Curse 
their  impudence,  they  made  us  sweat.  For  a  very  little 
I  would  give  the  rascals  something  to  howl  for.' 

Perhaps  he  meant  no  more  than  to  put  a  bold  face  on  it 
before  his  creatures.  But  unluckily  the  rabble,  which 
had  come  provided  with  a  cart  and  gallows,  a  hangman. 


TUTOR  AND  PUPILS— OLD  STYLE  27 

and  a  paunchy,  red-faced  fellow  iu  canonicals,  and  which 
hitherto  had  busied  itself  with  the  mock  execution,  found 
leisure  at  this  moment  to  look  up  at  the  window.  Catch- 
ing sight  of  the  object  of  their  anger,  they  vented  their 
rage  in  a  roar  of  execration,  so  much  louder  than  all  that 
had  gone  before  that  it  brought  the  senteuce  which  Mr. 
Thomasson  was  uttering  to  a  quavering  end.  But  the 
demonstration,  far  from  intimidating  Mr.  Dunborough, 
provoked  him  to  fury.  Turning  from  the  sea  of  bran- 
dished hands  and  upturned  faces,  he  strode  to  a  table, 
and  in  a  moment  returned.  The  window  was  open, 
he  flung  it  wider,  and  stood  erect,  in  full  view  of  the 
mob. 

The  sight  produced  a  momentary  silence,  of  which  he 
took  advantage.  '  Now,  you  tailors,  begone  !  '  he  cried 
harshly.  '  To  your  hovels,  and  leave  gentlemen  to  their 
wine,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you.  Come,  march! 
AVe  have  had  enough  of  your  fooling,  and  are  tired 
of  it.' 

The  answer  was  a  shout  of  '  Cain! '  and  '  Murderer! ' 
One  voice  cried  '  Ferrers!  '  and  this  caught  the  fancy  of 
the  crowd.  In  a  moment  a  hundred  were  crying,  '  Ay, 
Ferrers  !     Come  down,  and  we'll  Ferrers  you  !  ' 

He  stood  a  moment  irresolute,  glaring  at  them ;  then 
something  struck  and  shattered  a  pane  of  the  window 
beside  him,  and  the  fetid  smell  of  a  bad  Q^g  filled  the 
room.  At  the  sound  Mr.  Thomasson  uttered  a  cry  and 
shrank  farther  into  the  darkness,  while  Lord  Almeric  rose 
hastily  and  looked  about  for  a  refuge.  But  Mr.  Dunbor- 
ough did  not  flinch. 

'D n  you,  you  rascals,  you  will  have  it,  will  you?  '  he 

cried;  and  in  the  darkness  a  sharp  click  was  heard.  He 
raised  his  hand.  A  shriek  in  the  street  below  answered 
the  movement;  some  who  stood  nearest  saw  that  he  held 
a  pistol  and  gave  the  information  to  others,  and  there 


38  THE  CASTLE  JNN 

was  a  wild  rush  to  escape.  But  before  the  hammer 
dropped,  a  hand  closed  on  his,  and  Soane,  crying,  '  Are 
you  mad,  sir  ? '  dragged  him  back. 

Dunborough  had  not  entertained  the  least  idea  that  any 
one  stood  near  him,  and  the  surprise  was  as  complete  as 
the  check.  After  an  instinctive  attemj^t  to  wrench  away 
his  hand,  he  stood  glaring  at  the  person  who  held  him. 
'Curse  you!'  he  said.  '  AVho  are  you?  And  what  do 
you  mean  ?  ' 

'  Not  to  sit  by  and  see  murder  done,'  Sir  George  an- 
swered firmly.     '  To-morrow  you  will  thank  me.' 

'For  the  present  I'll  thank  you  to  release  my  hand,' 
the  other  retorted  in  a  freezing  tone.  Nevertheless,  Sir 
George  thought  that  the  delay  had  sobered  him,  and 
complied.  'Much  obliged  to  you,'  Dunborough  contin- 
ued, '  Now  perhaps  you  will  walk  into  the  next  room, 
where  there  is  a  light,  and  Ave  can  be  free  from  that  scum.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  had  already  set  the  example  of  a  pru- 
dent retreat  thither;  and  Lord  Almeric,  with  a  feeble, 
'  Lord,  this  is  very  surprising  !  But  I  think  that  the 
gentleman  is  right,  Dunny,'  was  hovering  in  the  door- 
way. Sir  George  signed  to  Mr.  Dunborough  to  go  first, 
but  he  would  not,  and  Soane,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
preceded  him. 

The  room  into  which  they  all  crowded  was  no  more  than 
a  closet,  containing  a  dusty  bureau  propj^ed-  on  three 
legs,  a  few  books,  and  Mr.  Thomasson's  robes,  boots,  and 
wig-stand.  It  was  so  small  that  when  they  Avere  all  in 
it,  they  stood  perforce  close  together,  and  had  the  air 
of  persons  sheltering  from  a  storm.  This  nearness,  the 
glare  of  the  lamp  on  their  faces,  and  the  mean  surround- 
ings gave  a  kind  of  added  force  to  Mr.  Dunborough's 
rage.  For  a  moment  after  entering  he  could  not  speak; 
he  had  dined  largely,  and  sat  long  after  dinner;  and  his 
face  was  suffused  with  blood.     But  then,  '  Tommy,  who 


'tommy,  who  is— this— fellow?'  he  cried 


TUTOR  AND  PUPILS— OLD   STYLE  29 

is — this — fellow  ?  '  he  cried,  blurting  out  the  words  as  if 
each  must  be  the  last. 

'  Good  heavens  ! '  cried  the  tutor,  shocked  at  the  low 
appellation.  '  Mr.  Dunborough !  Mr.  Dunborough!  You 
mistake.  My  dear  sir,  my  dear  friend,  you  do  not  under- 
stand. This  is  Sir  George  Soane,  whose  name  must  be 
known  to  you.     Permit  me  to  introduce  him.' 

'  Then  take  that  for  a  meddler  and  a  coxcomb,  Sir 
George  Soane  ! '  cried  the  angry  man  ;  and  quick  as 
thought  he  struck  Sir  George,  who  was  at  elbows  with 
him,  lightly  in  the  face. 

Sir  George  stepped  back,  his  face  crimson.  /You  are 
not  sober,  sir  ! '  he  said. 

'  Is  not  that  enough  ?  '  cried  the  other,  drowning  both 
Mr.   Thomasson's  exclamation  of  horror  and  Lord  Al- 

meric's  protest  of,  '  Oh,  but  I  say,  you  know '  under 

the  volume  of  his  voice.  '  You  have  a  sword,  sir,  and  I 
presume  you  know  how  to  use  it.  If  there  is  not  space 
here,  there  is  a  room  below,  and  I  am  at  your  service. 
You  will  not  wipe  that  off  by  rubbing  it,  '  he  added 
coarsely. 

Sir  George  dropped  his  hand  from  his  face  as  if  it  stung 
him.  'Mr.  Dunborough,'  he  said  trembling — but  it 
was  with  passion,  '  if  I  thought  you  were  sober  and  would 
not  rejoent  to-morrow  what  you  have  done  to-night ' 

'  You  would  do  fine  things,'  Dunborough  retorted. 
'  Come,  sir,  a  truce  to  your  impertinence  !  You  have 
meddled  with  me,  and  you  must  maintain  it.  Must  I 
strike  you  again  ?  ' 

'  I  will  not  meet  you  to-night, '  Sir  George  answered 
firmly.  '  I  will  be  neither  Lord  Byron  nor  his  victim. 
These  gentlemen  will  bear  me  out  so  far.  For  the  rest, 
if  you  are  of  the  same  mind  to-morrow,  it  will  be  for  me 
and  not  for  you  to  ask  a  meeting.' 

'At  your  service,  sir,'  Mr.  Dunborough  said,  with  a 


30  THE   CASTLE  IXX 

sarcastic    bow.     '  But  suppose,    to   save    trouble   in    the 
morning,  we  fix  time  and  place  now.' 

'Eight — in  Magdalen  Fields,'  Soane  answered  curtly. 
'  If  I  do  not  hear  from  you,  I  am  staying  at  the  Mitre 
Inn.  Mr.  Thomasson,  I  bid  you  good-night.  My  lord, 
your  servant.' 

And  with  that,  and  though  Mr.  Thomasson,  wringing 
his  hands  over  what  had  occurred  and  the  injury  to  him- 
self that  might  come  of  it,  attempted  some  feeble  remon- 
strances, Sir  George  bowed  sternly,  took  his  hat  and- 
went  down.  He  found  his  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
but  in  consideration  of  the  crowd  he  would  not  use  it. 
The  college  porters,  indeed,  pressed  him  to  wait,  and 
demurred  to  opening  even  the  wicket.  But  he  had  car- 
ried forbearance  to  the  verge,  and  dreaded  the  least  ap- 
pearance of  timidity;  and,  insisting,  got  his  way.  The 
rabble  admired  so  fine  a  gentleman,  and  so  resolute  a 
bearing,  gave  place  to  him  with  a  jest,  and  let  him  pass 
unmolested  down  the  lane. 

It  was  well  that  they  did,  for  he  had  come  to  the  end 
of  his  patience.  One  man  steps  out  of  a  carriage,  picks 
up  a  handkerchief,  and  lives  to  wear  a  Crown.  Another 
takes  the  same  step;  it  lands  him  in  a  low  squabble  from 
which  he  may  extricate  himself  with  safety,  but  scarcely 
with  an  accession  of  credit.  Sir  George  belonged  to  the 
inner  circle  of  fashion,  to  which  neither  rank  nor  Avealth, 
nor  parts,  nor  power,  of  necessity  admitted.  In  the 
sphere  in  which  he  moved,  men  seldom  quarrelled  and  as 
seldom  fought.  Of  easiest  habit  among  themselves,  they 
left  bad  manners  and  the  duello  to  political  adventurers 
and  cubbish  peers,  or  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  quarter 
sessions  and  the  local  ordinary.  It  was  with  a  mighty 
disgust,  therefore,  that  Sir  George  considered  alike  the 
predicament  into  which  a  caprice  had  hurried  him,  and 
the  insufferable  young  Hector  whom  fate  had  made  his 


TUTOR  AND  PUPILS— OLD   STYLE  31 

autagonist.  They  would  laugh  at  White's.  They  would 
make  a  jest  of  it  over  the  cakes  and  fruit  at  Betty's. 
Selwyn  Avould  turn  a  quip.  And  yet  the  thing  was  be- 
yond a  joke.  He  must  be  a  target  first  and  a  butt  after- 
wards— if  any  afterwards  there  were. 

As  he  entered  the  Mitre,  sick  Avith  chagrin,  and  telling 
himself  he  might  have  known  that  something  of  this  kind 
would  come  of  stooping  to  vulgar  company,  he  bethought 
him — for  the  first  time  in  an  hour — of  the  girl.  '  Lord !  ' 
he  said,  thinking  of  her  request,  her  passion,  and  her 
splendid  eyes;  and  he  stood.  For  the  age  dcsphilosopltes, 
destiny  seemed  to  be  taking  too  large  a  part  in  the  play. 
This  must  be  the  very  man  with  whom  she  had  striven 
to  embroil  him  ! 

His  servant's  voice  broke  in  on  his  thoughts.  '  At 
what  hour  will  your  honour  please  to  be  called  ?  '  he  asked, 
as  he  carried  oti  the  laced  coat  and  wig. 

Soane  stifled  a  groan.  '  Called  ?  '  he  said.  '  At  half- 
past  six.  Don't  stare,  booby  !  Half-past  six,  I  said. 
And  do  you  go  now,  I'll  shift  for  myself.  But  first  j^^^t 
out  my  despatch-case,  and  see  there  is  pen  and  ink.  It's 
done  ?  Then  be  off,  and  when  you  come  in  the  morning 
bring  the  landlord  and  another  with  you.' 

The  man  lingered.  '  Will  your  honour  want  horses  ?  ' 
he  said. 

'  I  don't  know.  Yes  !  No  !  Well,  not  until  noon. 
And  where  is  my  sword  ?  ' 

'  I  was  taking  it  down  to  clean  it,  sir.' 

'  Then  don't  take  it;  I  will  look  to  it  myself.  And 
mind  you,  call  me  at  the  time  I  said.' 


CHAPTEE   IV 

PEEPING    TOM    OF    WALLIKGFOED 

To  be  an  attorn ey-at-law,  avid  of  practice  and  getting 
none;  to  be  called  Peeping  Tom  of  Wallingford,  in  the 
place  where  you  Avould  fain  trot  about  busy  and  re- 
spected ;  to  be  the  sole  support  of  an  old  mother,  and  to 
be  come  almost  to  the  toe  of  the  stocking — these  circum- 
stances might  seem  to  indicate  an  existence  and  prospects 
bare,  not  to  say  arid.  Eventually  they  presented  them- 
selves in  that  light  to  the  person  most  nearly  concerned — 
by  name  Mr.  Peter  Fishwick;  and  moving  him  to  grasp 
at  the  forlorn  hope  presented  by  a  vacant  stewardship  at 
one  of  the  colleges,  brought  him  by  coach  to  Oxford. 
There  he  spent  three  days  and  his  penultimate  guineas 
in  canvassing,  begging,  bowing,  and  smirking;  and  on 
the  fourth,  which  happened  to  be  the  very  day  of  Sir 
George's  arrival  in  the  city,  was  duly  and  handsomely 
defeated  without  the  honour  of  a  vote. 

Mr.  Fishwick  had  expected  no  other  result;  and  so  far 
all  was  well.  But  he  had  a  mother,  and  that  mother 
entertained  a  fond  belief  that  local  jealousy  and  nothing 
else  kept  down  her  son  in  the  place  of  his  birth.  She 
had  built  high  hopes  on  this  expedition;  she  had  thought 
that  the  Oxford  gentlemen  would  be  prompt  to  recognise 
his  merit;  and  for  her  sake  the  sharp-featured  lawyer 
went  back  to  the  Mitre  a  rueful  man.  He  had  taken  a 
lodging  there  with  intent  to  dazzle  the  town,  and  not 
because  his  means  were  equal  to  it;  and  already  the  bill 


PEEPING    TOJI  OF   WALLING  FORD  33 

weighed  upou  him.  By  nature  as  cheerful  a  gossip  as 
ever  wore  a  scratch  wig  and  lived  to  be  inquisitive,  he 
sat  mum  through  the  evening,  and  barely  listened  while 
the  landlord  talked  big  of  his  guest  upstairs,  his  curricle 
and  fashion,  the  sums  he  lost  at  White's,  and  the  plate 
in  his  dressing-case. 

Nevertheless  the  lawyer  would  not  have  been  Peter 
Fishwick  if  he  had  not  j^resently  felt  the  stirrings  of 
curiosity,  or,  thus  incited,  failed  to  be  on  the  move  be- 
tween the  stairs  and  the  landing  when  Sir  George  came 
in  and  passed  up.  The  attorney's  ears  were  as  sharp  as 
a  ferret's  nose,  and  he  was  notably  long  in  lighting  his 
humble  dip  at  a  candle  which  by  chance  stood  outside  Sir 
George's  door.  Hence  it  happened  that  Soane — who 
after  dismissing  his  servant  had  gone  for  a  moment  into 
the  adjacent  chamber — heard  a  slight  noise  in  the  room 
he  had  left;  and,  returning  quickly  to  learn  what  it  was, 
found  no  one,  but  observed  the  outer  door  shake  as  if  some 
one  tried  it.  His  suspicions  aroused,  he  was  still  staring 
at  the  door  when  it  moved  again,  opened  a  very  little  way, 
and  before  his  astonished  eyes  admitted  a  small  man  in  a 
faded  black  suit,  who,  as  soon  as  he  had  squeezed  himself 
in,  stood  bowing  with  a  kind  of  desperate  audacity. 

'  Hallo ! '  said  Sir  George,  staring  anew.  '  What  do 
you  want,  my  man  ?  ' 

The  intruder  advanced  a  pace  or  two,  and  nervously 
crumpled  his  hat  in  his  hands.  "  If  your  honour  pleases,' 
he  said,  a  smile  feebly  j^ropitiative  appearing  in  his  face, 
'  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  of  service  to  you.' 

'Of  service?'  said  Sir  George,  staring  in  perplexity. 
'  To  me  ?  ' 

'  In  the  way  of  my  profession,'  the  little  man  answered, 
fixing  Sir  George  with  two  eyes  as  bright  as  birds';  which 
eyes  somewhat  redeemed  his  small  keen  features.     '  Your 
honour  was  about  to  make  your  will.' 
3 


34  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  My  will  ? '  Sir  George  cried,  amazed;    'I  was  about 

to '  and  then  in  an  outburst  of  rage,  '  and  if  I  was — 

what  the  devil  business  is  it  of  yours?  '  he  cried.  '  And 
who  are  you,  sir  ?  ' 

The  little  man  spread  out  his  hands  in  deprecation. 
'  I  ?  '  he  said.  '  I  am  an  attorney,  sir,  and  everybody's 
business  is  my  business. ' 

Sir  George  gasped.  '  You  are  an  attorney  ! '  he 
cried.  '  And — and  everybody's  business  is  your  busi- 
ness !  By  God,  this  is  too  much  ! '  And  seizing  the 
bell-rope  he  was  about  to  overwhelm  the  man  of  law 
with  a  torrent  of  abuse,  before  he  had  him  put  out, 
when  the  absurdity  of  the  appeal  and  perhaps  a  happy 
touch  in  Peter's  last  answer  struck  him;  he  held  his 
hand,  and  hesitated.  Then,  *  What  is  your  name,  sir  ?  ' 
he  said  sternly. 

'  Peter  Fishwick,'  the  attorney  answered  humbly. 

'  And  how  the  devil  did  you  know — that  I  wanted  to 
make  a  will  ?  ' 

'  I  was  going  upstairs,'  the  lawyer  explained.  'Ana 
the  door  was  ajar.' 

'  And  you  listened  ?  ' 

'  I  wanted  to  hear,'  said  Peter  with  simplicity. 

'  But  what  did  you  hear,  sir  ?  '  Soane  retorted,  scarcely 
able  to  repress  a  smile. 

'  I  heard  your  honour  tell  your  servant  to  lay  out  pen 
and  paper,  and  to  bring  the  landlord  and  another  upstairs 
when  he  called  you  in  the  morning.  And  I  heard  you 
bid  him  leave  your  sword.  And  jjutting  two  and  two 
together,  respected  sir,'  Peter  continued  manfully,  'and 
knowing  that  it  is  only  of  a  will  you  need  three  witnesses, 
I  said  to  myself,  being  an  attorney ' 

'And  everybody's  business  being  your  business,'  Sir 
George  muttered  irritably. 

'  To  be  sure,  sir — it  is  a  will,  I  said,  he  is  for  making. 


PEEPING   TOJI  OF    WALLINGFORD  JJS 

And  with  your  honour's  leave,'  Peter  concluded  with 
spirit,  '  I'll  make  it.' 

'  Confound  your  impudence,'  Sir  George  answered,  and 
stared  at  him,  marvelling  at  the  little  man's  shrewdness. 

Peter  smiled  in  a  sickly  fashion.  '  If  your  honour 
would  but  allow  me?  '  he  said.  He  saw  a  great  chance 
slipping  from  him,  and  his  voice  was  plaintive. 

It  moved  Sir  George  to  compassion.  '  Where  is  your 
practice  ?  '  he  asked  ungraciously. 

The  attorney  felt  a  surprising  inclination  to  candour. 

'At  Wallingford,'  he  said,  'it  should  be.     But '  and 

there  he  stop|>ed,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  leaving 
the  rest  unsaid. 

'  Can  you  make  a  will  ?  '  Sir  George  retorted. 

'No  man  better,'  said  Peter  with  confidence;  and  on 
the  -instant  he  drew  a  chair  to  the  table,  seized  the  pen, 
and  bent  the  nib  on  his  thumbnail;  then  he  said  briskly, 
'  I  wait  your  commands,  sir. ' 

Sir  George  stared  in  some  embarrassment — he  had  not 
expected  to  be  taken  so  literall}^;  but,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  reflecting  that  to  write  down  his  wishes  with 
his  own  hand  would  give  him  more  trouble,  and  that  he 
might  as  well  trust  this  stranger  as  that,  he  accej)ted  the 
situation.  'Take  down  what  I  wish,  then,'  he  said. 
'  Put  it  into  form  afterwards,  and  bring  it  to  me  when  I 
rise.     Can  you  be  secret  ?  ' 

'Try  me,'  Peter  answered  with  enthusiasm.  'For  a 
good  client  I  would  bite  ofE  my  tongue.' 

'  Very  well,  then,  listen! '  Sir  George  said.  And  pres- 
ently, after  some  humming  and  thinking,  '  I  wish  to  leave 
all  my  real  property  to  the  eldest  son  of  my  uncle,  An- 
thony Soane,'  he  continued. 

'  Eight,  sir.  Child  already  in  existence,  I  presume  ? 
Not  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary,'  the  attorney  contin- 
ued glibly.     '  But ' 


36  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  I  do  not  know, '  said  Sir  George. 

'  Ab ! '  said  the  lawyer,  raising  his  jDen  and  knitting  his 
brows  wliile  he  looked  very  learnedly  into  vacancy.  '  The 
child  is  expected,  but  you  have  not  yet  heard,  sir, 
that ' 

'  I  know  nothing  about  the  child,  nor  whether  there  is 
a  child,'  Sir  George  answered  testily.  'My  uncle  may 
be  dead,  unmarried,  or  alive  and  married — what  differ- 
ence does  it  make  ?  ' 

'Certainty  is  very  necessary  in  these  things,'  Peter  re- 
plied severely.  The  pen  in  his  hand,  he  became  a  differ- 
ent man.  '  Your  uncle,  Mr.  Anthony  Soane,  as  I  under- 
stand, is  alive? ' 

'He  disappeared  in  the  Scotch  troubles  in  '45,'  Sir 
George  reluctantly  explained,  '  was  disinherited  in  favour 
of  my  father,  sir,  and  has  not  since  been  heard  from.' 

The  attorney  grew  rigid  with  alertness;  he  was  like 
nothing  so  much  as  a  dog,  expectant  at  a  rat-hole.  '  At- 
tainted ? '  he  said. 

'  No !  '  said  Sir  George. 

'Outlawed?' 

'No.' 

The  attorney  collapsed :  no  rat  in  the  hole.  '  Dear 
me,  dear  me,  what  a  sad  story  ! '  he  said ;  and  then  re- 
membering that  his  client  had  profited,  '  but  out  of  evil 
— ahem!  As  I  understand,  sir,  you  wish  all  your  real 
property,  including  the  capital  mansion  house  and  de- 
mesne, to  go  to  the  eldest  son  of  your  uncle  Mr.  Anthony 
Soane  in  tail,  remainder  to  the  second  son  in  tail,  and, 
failing  sons,  to  daughters — the  usual  settlement,  in  a 
word,  sir.' 

'Yes.' 

'No  exceptions,  sir.' 

'None.' 

'Very  good,'  the  attorney  answered  with  the  air  of  a 


PEEPING   TOM  OF    WALLINGFORD  37 

man  satisfied  so  far.  '  And  failing  issue  of  youv  uncle  ? 
To  whom  then,  Sir  George  ?  ' 

'  To  the  Earl  of  Chatham.' 

Mr,  Fishwick  jumped  in  his  seat;  then  bowed  pro- 
foundly. 

'  Indeed !  Indeed !  How  very  interesting ! '  he  mur- 
mured under  his  breath.  '  Very  remarkable !  Very  re- 
markable, and  flattermg.' 

Sir  Greorge  stooped  to  explain.  '  I  have  no  near  rela- 
tions/ he  said  shortly.  'Lord  Chatham — he  was  then 
Mr.  Pitt — was  the  executor  of  my  grandfather's  will,  is 
connected  with  me  by  marriage,  and  at  one  time  acted  as 
my  guardian.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  licked  his  lijDS  as  if  he  tasted  something 
very  good.  This  was  business  indeed !  These  were  names 
with  a  vengeance!  His  face  shone  with  satisfaction;  he 
acquired  a  sudden  stiffness  of  the  spine.  '  Very  good, 
sir,' he  said.  '  Ve — ry  good,' he  said.  'In  fee  simple, 
I  understand  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'Precisely.  Precisely;  no  uses  or  trusts?  No.  Un- 
necessary of  course.     Then  as  to  personal t}^  Sir  George  ?  ' 

'  A  legacy  of  five  hundred  guineas  to  George  Augustus 
Selwyn,  Esquire,  of  Matson,  Gloucestershire.  One  of  the 
same  amount  to  Sir  Charles  Bunbury,  Baronet.  Five 
hundred  guineas  to  each  of  my  executors;  and  to  each  of 
these  four  a  mourning  ring.' 

'  Certainly,  sir.  All  very  noble  gifts  !  '  And  Mr.  Fish- 
wick smacked  his  lips. 

For  a  moment  Sir  George  looked  his  offence;  then  see- 
ing that  the  attorney's  ecstasy  was  real  and  unaffected, 
he  smiled.  '  To  my  land-steward  two  hundred  guineas,' 
he  said;  'to  my  house-steward  one  hundred  guineas, 
to  the  housekeeper  at  Estcombe  an  annuity  of  twenty 
guineas.     Ten  guineas  and  a  suit  of  mourning  to  each  of 


38  THE  CASTLE  INN 

my  upper  servants  not  already  mentioned,  and  the  rest 
of  my  personalty ' 

'  After  payment  of  debts  and  funeral  and  testamentary 
expenses,'  the  lawyer  murmured,  writing  busily. 

Sir  George  started  at  the  words,  and  stared  thought- 
fully before  him :  he  was  silent  so  long  that  the  lawyer 
recalled  his  attention  by  gently  repeating,  '  And  the 
residue,  honoured  sir  ?  ' 

'  To  the  Thatched  House  Society  for  the  relief  of  small 
debtors,'  Sir  George  answered,  between  a  sigh  and  a  smile. 
And  added,  '  They  will  not  gain  much  by  it,  poor  devils! ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  with  a  rather  downcast  air  noted  the 
bequest.  '  And  that  is  all,  sir,  I  think  ?  '  he  said  with 
his  head  on  one  side.  '  Except  the  appointment  of 
executors. ' 

'No,'  Sir  George  answered  curtly.  'It  is  not  all. 
Take  this  down  and  be  careful.  As  to  the  trust  fund  of 
fifty  thousand  pounds  ' — the  attorney  gasped,  and  his  eyes 
shone  as  he  seized  the  pen  anew.  '  Take  this  down  care- 
fully, man,  I  say,'  Sir  George  continued.  '  As  to  the  trust 
fund  left  by  my  grandfather's  will  to  my  uncle  Anthony 
Soane  or  his  heirs  conditionally  on  his  or  their  returning 
to  their  allegiance  and  claiming  it  within  the  space  of 
twenty-one  years  from  the  date  of  his  will,  the  interest 
in  the  meantime  to  be  paid  to  me  for  my  benefit,  and 
the  principal  sum,  failing  such  return,  to  become  mine 
as  fully  as  if  it  had  vested  in  me  from  the  beginning ' 

'  Ah ! '  said  the  attorney,  scribbling  fast,  and  with  dis- 
tended cheeks. 

'  I  leave  the  said  fund  to  go  with  the  land. ' 

'  To  go  with  the  land,'  the  lawyer  repeated  as  he  wrote 
the  words.  '  Fifty  thousand  pounds  !  Prodigious  !  Pro- 
digious !  Might  I  ask,  sir,  the  date  of  your  respected 
grandfather's  will  ? ' 

'  December,  1746,'  Sir  George  answered. 


PEEPING    TO 31  OF    WALLINGFORD  39 

'  The  term  has  then  nine  months  to  run  V  ' 

'Yes.' 

'With  submission,  then  it  comes  to  this,' the  lawyer 
answered  thoughtfully,  marking  ofi  the  points  with  his 
pen  in  the  air.  '  In  the  event  of — of  this  will  operating 
— all,  or  nearly  all  of  your  property.  Sir  George,  goes  to 
your  uncle's  heirs  in  tail — if  to  be  found — and  failing 
issue  of  his  body  to  my  Lord  Chatham  ?  ' 

'  Those  are  my  intentions.' 

'Precisely,  sir,'  the  law3^er  answered,  glancing  at  the 
clock.  'And  they  shall  be  carried  out.  But — ahem! 
Do  I  understand,  sir,  that  in  the  event  of  a  claimant 
making  good  his  claim  before  the  exjDiration  of  the  nine 
months,  yon  stand  to  lose  this  stupendous,  this  magnifi- 
cent sum — even  in  your  lifetime  ?  ' 

'I  do,'  Sir  George  answered  grimly.  'But  there  will 
be  enough  left  to  pay  your  bill.' 

Peter  stretched  out  his  hands  in  protest,  then,  feeling 
that  this  w'as  unprofessional,  he  seized  the  pen.  '  Will 
you  please  to  honour  me  with  the  names  of  the  executors, 
sir? '  he  said. 

'Dr.  Addington,  of  Harley  Street.' 

'  Yes,  sir.' 

'  And  Mr.  Dagge,  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  attorney-at- 
law.' 

'  It  is  an  honour  to  be  in  any  w^ay  associated  with  him,' 
the  lawyer  muttered, as  he  wrote  the  name  with  a  flourish. 
'  His  lordship's  man  of  business,  I  believe.  And  now 
you  may  have  your  mind  at  ease,  sir,'  he  continued.  '  I 
will  put  this  into  form  before  I  sleep,  and  will  wait  on 
you  for  your  signature — shall  I  say  at ' 

'  At  a  quarter  before  eight,'  said  Soane.  '  You  will  be 
private  ? ' 

'  Of  course,  sir.  It  is  my  business  to  be  private.  I 
wish  you  a  very  good  night.' 


40  THE   CASTLE  INN 

The  attorney  longed  to  refer  to  tlie  coming  meeting, 
and  to  his  sincere  hope  that  his  new  patron  would  leave 
the  ground  unscathed.  But  a  duel  was  so  alien  from  the 
lawyer's  walk  in  life,  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  punc- 
tilios, and  he  felt  a  delicacy.  Tamely  to  wish  a  man  a 
safe  issue  seemed  to  be  a  common  compliment  incom- 
mensurate with  the  occasion;  and  a  bathos.  So,  after  a 
moment  of  hesitation,  he  gathered  up  his  papers,  and 
tijo-toed  out  of  the  room  with  an  absurd  exaggeration  of 
respect,  and  a  heart  bounding  jubilant  under  his  flapped 
waistcoat. 

Left  to  himself,  Sir  George  heaved  a  sigh,  and,  resting 
his  head  on  his  hand,  stared  long  and  gloomily  at  the 
candles.  'Well,  better  be  run  through  by  this  clown,' 
he  muttered  after  a  while,  '  than  live  to  put  a  pistol  to 
my  own  head  like  Mountford  and  Bland.  Or  Scarbor- 
ough, or  poor  Bolton.  It  is  not  likely,  and  I  wish  that 
little  pettifogger  had  not  put  it  into  my  head;  but  if  a 
cousin  were  to  a^jpear  now,  or  before  the  time  is  up,  I 
should  be  in  Queer  Street.  Estcombe  is  dipped:  and  of 
the  money  I  raised,  there  is  no  more  at  the  agent's  than 

I  have  lost  in  a  night  at  Quinze!     D n  White's  and 

that  is  all  about  it.     And  d n  it,  I  shall,  and  finely,if 

old  Anthony's  lad  turn  up  and  sweep  off  the  three  thou- 
sand a  year  that  is  left.  Umph,  if  I  am  to  have  a  steady 
hand  to-morrow  I  must  get  to  bed.  What  unholy  chance 
brought  me  into  this  scrape '? ' 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    MEETING 

When  Sir  Gl-eorge  awoke  next  moruiug.  and,  after  a 
few  lazy  moments  of  semi-consciousness,  remembered 
what  was  before  him,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  he  felt  a 
chill.  He  lay  awhile,  thinking  of  the  past  and  the  future 
— or  the  no  future — in  a  way  he  seldom  thought,  and 
with  a  seriousness  for  which  the  life  he  had  hitherto  led 
had  left  him  little  time  and  less  inclination. 

But  he  was  young;  he  had  a  digestion  as  yet  unim- 
paired, and  nerves  still  strong;  and  when  he  emerged  an 
hour  later  and,  more  soberly  dressed  than  Avas  his  wont, 
proceeded  down  the  High  Street  towards  the  Cherwell 
Bridge,  his  spirits  were  at  their  normal  level.  The  spring 
sunshine  which  gilded  the  iiinnacles  of  Magdalen  tower, 
and  sh6ne  cool  and  pleasant  on  a  score  of  hoary  fronts, 
wrought  gaily  on  him  also.  The  milksellers  and  such 
early  folk  were  abroad,  and  filled  the  street  with  their 
cries;  he  sniffed  the  fresh  air,  and  smiled  at  the  good 
humour  and  morning  faces  that  everywhere  greeted  him; 

and   d d   White's   anew,  and  vowed  to  live  cleanly 

henceforth,  and  forswear  Pam.  In  a  word,  the  man  was 
of  such  a  courage  that  in  his  good  resolutions  he  forgot 
his  errand,  and  whence  they  arose;  and  it  was  with  a 
start  that,  as  he  approached  the  gate  leading  to  the  col- 
lege meadows,  he  marked  a  chair  in  waiting,  and  beside 
it  Mr.  Peter  Fishwick,  from  whom  he  had  parted  at  the 
Mitre  ten  minutes  before. 


42  THE   CASTLE  INN 

Soane  did  not  know  whether  the  attorney  had  preceded 
him  or  followed  him:  the  intrusion  was  the  same,  and 
flushed  with  annoyance,  he  strode  to  him  to  mark  his 
sense  of  it.  But  Peter,  being  addressed,  wore  his  sharp- 
est business  air,  and  was  entirely  unconscious  of  offence, 
'I  have  merely  purveyed  a  surgeon,'  he  said,  indicating 
a  young  man  who  stood  beside  him.  '  I  could  not  learn 
that  you  had  provided  one,  sir. ' 

'Oh!'  Sir  George  answered,  somewhat  taken  aback, 
*  this  is  the  gentleman.' 

'  Yes,  sir. ' 

Soane  was  in  the  act  of  saluting  the  stranger,  when  a 
party  of  two  or  three  persons  came  up  behind,  and  had 
much  ado  not  to  jostle  them  in  the  gateway.  It  consisted 
of  Mr.  Dunborough,  Lord  Almeric,  and  two  other  gentle- 
men; one  of  these,  an  elderly  man,  who  wore  black  and 
hair-powder,  and  carried  a  gold-topped  cane,  had  a  smug 
and  well-pleased  expression,  that  indicated  his  stake  in 
the  meeting  to  be  purely  altruistic.  The  two  companies 
exchanged  salutes. 

On  this  followed  a  little  struggle  to  give  j^recedence  at 
the  gate,  but  eventually  all  Aveut  through.  'If  we  turn 
to  the  right,'  some  one  observed,  '  there  is  a  convenient 
place.     Xo,  this  way,  my  lord. ' 

'  Oh  Lord,  I  have  such  a  head  this  morning! '  his  lord- 
ship answered;  and  he  looked  by  no  means  happy.  'I 
am  all  of  a  twitter!  It  is  so  confounded  early,  too.  See 
here:  cannot  this  be ?  ' 

The  gentleman  who  had  spoken  before  drowned  his 
voice.  '  AVill  this  do,  sir  ?  '  he  said,  raising  his  hat,  and 
addressing  Sir  George.  The  party  had  reached  a  smooth 
glade  or  lawn  encompassed  by  thick  shrubs,  and  to  all 
appearance  a  hundred  miles  from  a  street.  A  fairy-ring 
of  verdure,  glittering  with  sunlight  and  dewdrops,  and 
tuneful  with  the  sonffs  of  birds,  it  seemed  a  morsel  of 


THE  MEETING  43 

paradise  dropped  from  the  cool  blue  of  heaveu.  Sir 
George  felt  a  momentary  tightening  of  the  throat  as  he 
surveyed  its  pure  brilliance,  and  then  a  sudden  growing 
auger  against  the  fool  who  had  brought  him  thither. 

'  You  have  no  second  ?  '  said  the  stranger. 

'No,'  he  answered  curtly;  'I  think  we  have  witnesses 
enough.' 

'  Still — if  the  matter  can  be  accommodated  ?  ' 

'It  can,'  Soane  answered,  standing  stiffly  before  them. 
'  But  only  by  an  unreserved  apology  on  Mr.  Dunborough's 
part.     He  struck  me.     I  have  no  more  to  say. ' 

'  I  do  not  offer  the  apology,'  Mr.  Dunborough  rejoined, 
with  a  horse-laugh.  '  So  we  may  as  well  go  on,  Jerry. 
I  did  not  come  here  to  talk.' 

'I  have  brought  pistols,'  his  second  said,  disregarding 
the  sneer.  '  But  my  principal,  though  the  challenged 
jiarty,  is  willing  to  waive  the  choice  of  weaj)ons.' 

'  Pistols  will  do  for  me,'  Sir  George  answered. 

'  One  shot,  at  a  word.  If  ineffective,  you  will  take  to 
your  swords,'  the  second  continued;  and  he  i^ushed  back 
his  wig  and  wiped  his  forehead,  as  if  his  employment  were 
not  altogether  to  his  taste.  A  duel  Avas  a  tine  thing — at 
a  distance.  He  wished,  however,  that  he  had  some  one 
with  whom  to  share  the  responsibility,  now  it  was  come 
to  the  point;  and  he  cast  a  peevish  look  at  Lord  Almeric. 
But  his  lordship  was,  as  he  had  candidly  said,  'all  of  a 
twitter,'  and  offered  no  help. 

'  I  suppose  that  I  am  to  load,'  the  unlucky  second  con- 
tinued. '  That  being  so,  you.  Sir  George,  must  have  the 
choice  of  pistols.' 

Sir  George  bowed  assent,  and,  going  a  little  aside,  re- 
moved his  hat,  wig,  and  cravat;  and  was  about  to  button 
his  coat  to  his  throat,  when  he  observed  that  Mr.  Dun- 
borough  was  stripping  to  his  shirt.  Too  proud  not  to 
follow  the  example,  though  prudence  suggested  that  the 


44  THE   CASTLE  INN 

white  linen  made  him  a  fair  mark,  he  stripped  also,  and 
in  a  trice  the  two,  kicking  off  their  shoes,  moved  to  the 
positions  assigned  to  them;  and  in  their  breeches  and 
laced  lawn  shirts,  their  throats  bare,  confronted  one 
another. 

'  Sir  George,  have  you  oio  one  to  represent  you  ?  '  cried 
the  second  again,  grown  querulous  under  the  burden. 
His  name, it  seemed,  was  Morris.  He  was  a  major  in  the 
Oxfordshire  JNIilitia. 

Soane  answered  with  impatience.  '  I  have  no  second,' 
he  said,  '  but  my  surgeon  Avill  be  a  competent  witness.' 

'Ah!  to  be  sure! '  Major  Morris  answered,  with  a  sigh 
of  relief.  '  That  is  so.  Then,  gentlemen,  I  shall  give 
the  signal  by  saying  One,  two,  three!  Be  good  enough 
to  fire  together  at  the  word  Three!  Do  you  under- 
stand ? ' 

'Yes,'  said  Mr.  Dunborough.  And  'Yes,'  Sir  George 
said  more  slowly. 

'  Then,  now,  be  ready  !  Prepare  to  fire  !  One  !  two  ! 
th ' 

'Stay!'  flashed  Mr.  Dunborough,  while  the  word  still 
hung  in  the  air.  '  You  have  not  given  us  our  pistols,'  he 
continued,  with  an  oath. 

'  What  ?  '  cried  the  second,  staring. 

'  Man,  you  have  not  given  us  our  pistols.' 

The  major  was  covered  with  confusion.  '  God  bless  my 
soul!  I  have  not! '  he  cried;  while  Lord  Almeric  giggled 
hysterically.  '  Dear  me!  dear  me!  it  is  very  trying  to  be 
alone ! '  He  threw  his  hat  and  wig  on  the  grass,  and 
again  wiped  his  brow,  and  took  np  the  pistols.  '  Sir 
George?  Thank  you.  Mr.  Dunborough,  here  is  yours.' 
Then:  '  Xow, are  you  ready  ?     Thank  you.' 

He  retreated  to  his  place  again.  '  Are  you  ready,  gen- 
tlemen? Are  you  quite  ready  ?' he  repeated  anxiously, 
amid  a  breathless  silence.     'One!  two!  three/'' 


THE  JIFETING  45 

Sir  George's  pistol  exploded  at  the  word;  the  hammer 
of  the  other  clicked  futile  in  the  joan.  The  spectators, 
staring,  and  expecting  to  see  one  fall,  saw  ^Ir.  Dunbor- 
ough  start  and  make  a  half  turn.  Before  they  had  time 
to  draw  any  conclusion    he  flung  his  pistol  a  dozen  paces 

away,  and  cursed   his  second.     'D n  you,   Morris!' 

he  cried  shrilly;  'you  put  no  powder  in  the  pan,  you 
hound!  But  come  on,  sir,'  he  continued,  addressing  Sir 
George,  'I  have  this  left.'  And  rapidly  changing  his 
sword  from  his  left  hand,  in  which  he  had  hitherto  held 
it,  to  his  right,  he  rushed  upon  his  opponent  with  the 
utmost  fury,  as  if  he  Avould  bear  him  down  by  main  force. 

'  Stay! '  Sir  George  cried;  and,  instead  of  meeting  him, 
avoided  his  first  rush  by  stepping  aside  two  paces.  '  Stay, 
sir,'  he  repeated;  'I  owe  you  a  shot  !  Prime  afresh. 
Eeload,  sir,  and ' 

But  Dunborough,  blind  and  deaf  with  passion,  broke 
in  on  him  unheeding,  and  as  if  he  carried  no  weapon; 
and  crying  furiously,  '  Guard  yourself! '  plunged  his  half- 
shortened  sword  at  the  lower  part  of  Sir  George's  body. 
The  spectators  held  their  breath  and  winced;  the  assault 
was  so  sudden,  so  determined,  that  it  seemed  that  noth- 
ing could  save  Sir  George  from  a  thrust  thus  delivered. 
He  did  escape,  however,  by  a  bound,  quick  as  a  cat's;  but 
the  point  of  Dunborough's  weapon  ripped  up  his  breeches 
on  the  hip,  the  hilt  rapped  against  the  bone,  and  the  two 
men  came  together  bodily.  For  a  moment  they  wrestled, 
and  seemed  to  be  going  to  fight  like  beasts. 

Then  Sir  George,  his  left  forearm  under  the  other's 
chin,  flung  him  three  paces  away;  and  shifting  his  sword 
into  his  right  hand — hitherto  he  had  been  unable  to 
change  it — he  stopped  Dunborough's  savage  rush  with 
the  point,  and  beat  him  olf  and  kept  him  off — parrying 
his  lunges,  and  doing  his  utmost  the  while  to  avoid  deal- 
ing him  a  fatal  wound.     Soane  was  so  much  the  better 


46  THE   CASTLE  INN 

swordsman — as  was  immediately  apparent  to  all  the  on- 
lookers— that  he  no  longer  feared  for  himself;  all  his  fears 
were  for  his  opponent,  the  fire  and  fury  of  whose  attacks 
he  could  not  explain  to  himself,  until  he  found  them  flag- 
ging; and  flagging  so  fast  that  he  sought  a  reason.  Then 
Dunborough's  point  beginning  to  waver,  and  his  feet  to 
slip.  Sir  George's  eyes  were  opened;  he  discerned  a  crim- 
son patch  spread  and  spread  on  the  other's  side — where 
unnoticed  Dunborongh  had  kept  his  hand — and  with  a 
cry  for  help  he  sprang  forward  in  time  to  catch  the  fall- 
ing man  in  his  arms. 

As  the  others  ran  in,  the  surgeons  quickly  and  silently. 
Lord  Almeric  more  slowly,  and  with  exclamations.  Sir 
George  lowered  his  burden  gently  to  the  ground.  The 
iustant  it  was  done,  Morris  touched  his  arm  and  signed 
to  him  to  stand  back.  '  You  can  do  no  good,  Sir  George,' 
he  urged.  'He  is  in  skilful  hands.  He  would  have  it; 
it  was  his  own  fault.  I  can  bear  witness  that  you  did 
your  best  not  to  touch  him. ' 

'  I  did  not  touch  him,'  Soane  muttered. 

The  second  looked  his  astonishment.  '  How  ?  '  he  said. 
'  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  is  not  wounded  ?  See 
there  ! '  And  he  jiointed  to  the  blood  which  dyed  the 
shirt.     They  were  cutting  the  linen  away, 

'  It  was  the  pistol,'  Sir  George  answered. 

Major  Morris's  face  fell,  and  he  groaned.  '  Good 
G — d!  '  he  said,  staring  before  him.  'What  a  position 
I  am  in  !  I  suppose — I  suppose,  sir,  his  pistol  was  not 
primed  ?  ' 

'  I  am  afraid  not,'  Soane  answered. 

He  was  still  in  his  shirt,  and  bareheaded;  but  as  he 
spoke  one  of  several  onlookers,  whom  the  clatter  of  steel 
had  drawn  to  the  spot,  brought  his  coat  and  waistcoat, 
and  held  them  while  he  put  them  on.  Another  handed 
his  hat  and  wig,   a  third  brought  his  shoes  and  knelt  and 


THE  MEETING  47 

buckled  them;  a  fourth  his  kerchief.  All  these  services 
he  accepted  freely,  and  was  unconscious  of  them — as  un- 
conscious as  he  was  of  the  eager  deference,  the  morbid 
interest,  with  which  they  waited  on  him,  eyed  him,  and 
stared  at  him.  His  own  thoughts,  eyes,  attention,  were 
fixed  on  the  group  about  the  fallen  man;  and  when  the 
elder  surgeon  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  as  wanting  help, 
he  strode  to  them. 

'  If  we  had  a  chair  here,  and  could  move  him  at  once,' 
the  smug  gentleman  whispered,  '  I  think  we  might  do.' 

'I  have  a  chair.  It  is  at  the  gate,'  his  colleague  an- 
swered, 

'  Have  you  ?     A  good  thought  of  yours!  ' 

'  The  credit  should  lie — with  my  emjDloyer,'  the  younger 
man  answered  in  a  low  voice.     '  It  was  his  thought;  here 

it  comes.     Sir  George,  will  you  be  good  enough '     But 

then,  seeing  the  baronet's  look  of  mute  anxiety,  he  broke 
off.  'It  is  dangerous,  but  there  is  hope — fair  hope,'  he 
answered.  '  Do  you,  my  dear  sir,  go  to  your  inn,  and  I 
will  send  thither  when  he  is  safely  housed.  You  can  do 
no  good  here,  and  your  presence  may  excite  him  when 
he  recovers  from  the  swoon.' 

Sir  George,  seeing  the  wisdom  of  the  advice,  nodded 
assent;  and  remarking  for  the  first  time  the  sensation  of 
which  he  was  the  centre,  was  glad  to  make  the  best  of  his 
way  towards  the  gates.  He  had  barely  reached  them — 
without  shaking  off  a  knot  of  the  more  curious,  who  still 
hung  on  his  footsteps — when  Lord  Almeric,  breathless 
and  agitated,  came  uj)  with  him. 

'  You  are  for  France,  I  suppose  ?  '  his  lordship  panted. 
And  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer:  '  What  would 
you  advise  me  to  do  ?  '  he  babbled.  '  Eh  ?  What  do 
you  think  ?  It  will  be  the  devil  and  all  for  me,  you 
know.' 

Sir  George  looked  askance  at  him,  contempt  in  his  eye. 


48  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

'I  cannot  advise  3'ou,'  he  said.  '  For  my  part,  my  lord, 
I  remain  here. ' 

His  lordship  was  quite  taken  aback.  '  No,  you  don't  ?  ' 
he  said.     '  Remain  here  ! — You  don't  mean  it.'' 

'  I  usually  mean — what  I  say,'  Soane  answered  in  a  tone 
that  he  thought  must  close  the  conversation. 

But  Lord  Almeric  kept  up  with  him.  '  Ay,  but  will 
you  ? '  he  babbled  in  vacuous  admiration.  '  Will  you 
really  stay  here  ?  Now  that  is  uncommon  bold  of  you ! 
I  should  not  have  thought  of  that — of  staying  here,  I 
mean.  I  should  go  to  France  till  the  thing  blew  over. 
I  don't  know  that  I  shall  not  do  so  now.  Don't  you 
think  I  should  be  wise,  Sir  George  ?  My  position,  you 
know.     It  is  uncommon  low,  is  a  trial,  and ' 

Sir  George  halted  so  abruptly  that  will-he,  nill-he,  the 
other  went  on  a  few  paces.  '  My  lord,  you  should  know 
your  own  affairs  best,'  he  said  in  a  freezing  tone.  '  And, 
as  I  desire  to  be  alone,  I  wish  your  lordship  a  very  good 
day.' 

My  lord  had  never  been  so  much  astonished  in  his  life. 
'Oh,  good  moruing,'  he  said,  staring  vacantly,  'good 
morning! '  but  by  the  time  he  had  framed  the  words.  Sir 
George  Avas  a  dozen  paces  away. 

It  was  an  age  when  great  ladies  wept  out  of  wounded 
vanity  or  for  a  loss  at  cards — yet  made  a  show  of  their 
children  lying  in  state;  Avhen  men  entertained  the  wiLs 
and  made  their  wills  in  company,  before  they  bowed  a 
graceful  exit  from  the  room  and  life.  Doubtless  people 
felt,  feared,  hoped,  and  j^erspired  as  they  do  now,  and 
had  their  ambitions  apart  from  Pam  and  the  loo  table. 
Nay,  Rousseau  was  printing.  But  the  'Nouvelle  He- 
loise,'  though  it  was  beginning  to  be  read,  had  not  yet 
set  the  mode  of  sensibility,  or  sent  those  to  rave  of  nature 
who  all  their  lives  had  known  nothing  but  art.  The  sup- 
pression of  feeling,  or  rather  the  cultivation  of  no  feel- 


THE  MEETING  49 

ing,  was  still  the  mark  of  a  gentleman;  his  maxim;  hon- 
oured alike  at  Medmenham  and  Marly,  to  enjoy — to  enjoy, 
be  the  cost  to  others  what  it  might. 

Bred  in  such  a  school,  Sir  George  should  have  viewed 
what  had  happened  with  polite  indifference,  and  put  him- 
self out  no  further  than  was  courteous,  or  might  serve  to 
set  him  right  with  a  jury,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst. 
But,  whether  because  he  was  of  a  kindlier  stuff  than  the 
common  sort  of  fashionables,  or  was  too  young  to  be  quite 
spoiled,  he  took  the  thing  that  had  occurred  with  unex- 
pected heaviness;  and,  reaching  his  inn,  hastened  to  his 
room  to  escape  alike  the  curiosity  that  dogged  him  and 
the  sympathy  that,  for  a  fine  gentleman,  is  never  far  to 
seek.  To  do  him  justice,  his  anxiety  was  not  for  him- 
self, or  the  consequences  to  himself,  which  at  the  worst 
were  not  likely  to  exceed  a  nominal  verdict  of  man- 
slaughter, and  at  the  best  would  be  an  acquittal;  the 
former  had  been  Lord  Byron's  lot,  the  latter  Mr.  Brown's, 
and  each  had  killed  his  man.  Sir  George  had  more  savoir 
faire  than  to  trouble  himself  about  this  ;  but  about  his 
opponent  and  his  fate  he  felt  a  haunting — and,  as  Lord 
Almeric  would  have  said,  a  low — concern  that  would  let 
him  neither  rest  nor  sit.  In  particular,  when  he  remem- 
bered the  trifle  from  which  all  had  arisen,  he  felt  remorse 
and  sorrow;  which  grew  to  the  point  of  horror  when  he 
recalled  the  last  look  which  Duuborough,  swooning  and 
helpless,  had  cast  in  his  face. 

In  one  of  these  paroxysms  he  was  walking  the  room 
when  the  elder  surgeon,  Avho  had  attended  his  opponent 
to  the  field,  was  announced.  Soane  still  retained  so  much 
of  his  life  habit  as  to  show  an  unmoved  front;  the  man 
of  the  scalpel  thought  him  hard  and  felt  himself  repelled; 
and  though  he  had  come  from  the  sick-room  hot-foot  and 
laden  with  good  news,  descended  to  a  profound  apology 
for  the  intrusion. 
4 


50  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'But  I  thought  that  you  might  like  to  hear,  sir,'  he 
continued,  nursing  his  hat,  and  speaking  as  if  the  matter 
were  of  little  moment,  '  that  Mr.  Duuborough  is  as — as 
well  as  can  be  expected.  A  serious  case — I  might  call  it 
a  most  serious  case,'  he  continued,  puffing  out  his  cheeks. 
'  But  with  care — with  care  I  think  we  may  restore  him, 
I  cannot  say  more  than  that.' 

'  Has  the  ball  been  extracted  ?  ' 

'  It  has,  and  so  far  well.  And  the  chair  being  on  the 
spot.  Sir  George,  so  that  he  was  moved  withoiit  a  mo- 
ment's delay — for  which  I  believe  we  have  to  thank  Mr. 
—Mr. ' 

'Fish wick,'  Soane  suggested. 

'  To  be  sure — that  is  so  much  gained.  Which  reminds 
me,' the  smug  gentleman  continued,  'that  Mr.  Attorney 
begged  me  to  convey  his  duty  and  inform  you  that  he 
had  made  the  needful  arrangements  and  provided  bail,  so 
that  you  are  at  liberty  to  leave.  Sir  George,  at  any  hour.' 

'  Ah ! '  Soane  said,  marvelling  somewhat.  '  I  shall 
stay  here,  nevertheless,  until  I  hear  that  Mr.  Duuborough 
is  out  of  danger.' 

'An  impulse  that  does  you  credit,  sir,'  the  surgeon 
said  impressively.  'These  affairs,  alas!  are  very  greatly 
to  be  de ' 

'They  are  d — d  inconvenient,'  Sir  George  drawled. 
'  He  is  not  out  of  danger  yet,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

The  surgeon  stared  and  puffed  anew.  '  Certainly  not, 
sir,'  he  said. 

'  Ah !     And  where  have  you  placed  him  ?  ' 

'  The  Honourable  ]\Ir. ,  the  sufferer  ?  ' 

'  To  be  sure !  Who  else,  man  ?  '  Soane  asked  impatiently. 

'In  some  rooms  at  Magdalen,'  the  doctor  answered, 
breathing  hard.  And  then,  '  Is  it  your  wish  that  I  should 
report  to  you  to-morrow,  sir  ?  ' 

'You  will  oblige  me.     Thank  you.     Good-day.' 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    FISH     OUT    OF    AVATER 

Sir  George  speut  a  long  day  in  liis  own  company,  and 
heedless  that  on  the  surgeon's  authority  he  passed  abroad 
for  a  hard  man  and  a  dashed  unfeeling  fellow,  dined  on 
Lord  Lyttelton's  '  Life  of  King  Henry  the  Second,'  which 
was  a  new  book  in  those  days,  and  the  fashion;  and 
supped  on  gloom  and  good  resolutions.  He  proposed  to 
call  and  inquire  after  his  antagonist  at  a  decent  hour  in 
the  morning,  and  if  the  report  proved  favourable,  to  go 
on  to  Lord  's  in  the  afternoon. 

But  his  suspense  was  curtailed,  and  his  inquiries  were 
converted  into  a  matter  of  courtesy,  by  a  visit  which  he 
received  after  breakfast  from  Mr.  Thomasson.  A  glance 
at  the  tutor's  smiling,  unctuous  face  was  enough.  iL". 
Thomasson  also  had  had  his  dark  hour — since  to  be  mixed 
up  with  a  fashionable  fracas  was  one  thing,  and  to  lose  a 
valuable  and  influential  pupil,  the  apple  of  his  mother's 
eye,  was  another;  but  it  was  past,  and  he  gushed  over 
Avith  gratulations. 

'My  dear  Sir  George,'  he  cried,  running  forward  and 
extending  his  hands,  '  how  can  I  express  my  tliankfulness 
for  your  escape?  I  am  told  that  the  poor  dear  fellow 
fought  with  a  fury  perfectly  superhuman,  and  had  you 
giv^en  ground  must  have  run  you  through  a  dozen  times. 
Let  us  be  thankful  that  the  result  was  otherwise.'  And 
he  cast  up  his  eyes. 

'  I  am,'  Sir  George  said,  regarding  him  rather  grimly. 
'  I  do  not  know  that  Mr.  Dunborough  shares  the  feeling.' 


53  THE   CASTLE  INN 

'  The  dear  man  ! '  the  tutor  answered,  not  a  whit 
abashed.  '  But  he  is  better.  The  surgeon  has  extracted 
the  ball  and  pronounces  him  out  of  danger.' 

'I  am  glad  to  hear  it,'  Soaue  answered  heartily. 
'Then,  now  I  can  get  away.' 

'  A  volonte ! '  cried  Mr.  Thomasson  in  his  happiest 
vein.  And  then  with  a  roguish  air,  which  some  very 
young  men  found  captivating,  but  which  his  present 
companion  stomached  with  difficulty,  '  I  will  not  say  that 
you  have  come  off  the  better,  after  all.  Sir  George,'  he 
continued. 

'Ah!' 

'IS^o,'  said  the  tutor  roguishly.  'Tut-tut.  These 
young  men  !     They  will  at  a  woman  by  hook  or  crook.' 

'  So  ?  '  Sir  George  said  coldly.  '  And  the  latest  in- 
stance ? ' 

'  His  Chloe — and  a  very  obdurate,  disdainful  Chloe  at 
that — has  come  to  nurse  him,'  the  tutor  answered,  grin- 
ning. '  The  prettiest  high-stepping  piece  you  ever  saw. 
Sir  George — that  I  will  swear! — and  would  do  3"ou  no 
discredit  in  London.  It  would  make  your  mouth  water 
to  see  her.  But  he  could  never  move  her  ;  never  was  such 
a  prude.  Two  days  ago  he  thought  he  had  lost  her  for 
good  and  all — there  was  that  accident,  you  understand. 
And  now  a  little  blood  lost — and  she  is  at  his  pillow  ! ' 

Sir  George  reddened  at  a  sudden  thought  he  had. 
'And  her  father  unburied! '  he  cried,  rising  to  his  feet. 
This  Macaroni  was  human  after  all. 

Mr.  Thomasson  stared  in  astonishment.  '  You  know  ?  ' 
he  said.  '  Oh  fie,  Sir  George,  have  you  been  hunting 
already?     Fie!     Fie!     And  all  London  to  choose  from! ' 

But  Sir  George  simply  repeated,  '  And  her  father  not 
buried,  man  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered  with  simplicity.  '  He 
was  buried  this  mornins:.     Oh,  that  is  all  right.' 


A   FISH  OUT  OF   WATER  53 

'This  morning?  And  the  girl  went  from  that — to 
Dunborough's  bedside  ?  '  Sir  George  exclaimed  in  indig- 
nation. 

'It  was  a  piece  of  the  oddest  luck,'  Mr.  Thomasson 
answered,  smirking,  and  not  in  the  least  comprehending 
the  other's  feeling.  '  He  was  lodged  in  Magdalen  yester- 
day; this  morning  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  Pem- 
broke for  clothes  and  snch-Iike  for  him.  The  girl's 
mother  has  always  nursed  in  Pembroke,  and  they  sent 
for  her  to  help.  But  she  was  that  minute  home  from  the 
burial,  and  would  not  go.  Then  up  steps  the  girl  and 
"  I'll  go,"  says  she — heaven  knows  why  or  what  took  her, 
except  the  contrariness  of  woman.  However,  there  she 
is  !     D'ye  see?  '     And  Mr.  Thomasson  winked. 

'  Tommy,'  said  Sir  George,  staring  at  him,  '  I  see  that 
you're  a  d — d  rascal! ' 

The  tutor,  easy  and  smiling,  protested.  '  Fie,  Sir 
George,'  he  said.  'What  harm  is  in  it?  To  tend  the 
sick,  my  dear  sir,  is  a  holy  office.      And  if  in  this  case 

harm  come  of  it '  and  he  spread  out  his  hands  and 

pansed. 

'As  you  know  it  will,'  Sir  George  cried  impulsively. 

But  Mr.  Thomasson  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  On  the 
contrary,  I  know  nothing,'  he  answered.  '  But — if  it 
does,  Mr.  Dunborough's  position  is  such  that — hem! 
Well,  we  are  men  of  the  world.  Sir  George,  and  the  girl 
might  do  worse.' 

Sir  George  had  heard  the  sentiment  before,  and  without 
debate  or  protest.  'Now  it  disgusted  him.  'Faugh, 
man  ! '  he  said,  rising.  '  Have  done  !  You  sicken  me. 
Go  and  bore  Lord  Almeric — if  he  has  not  gone  to  Paris 
to  save  his  ridiculous  skin! ' 

But  Mr.  Thomasson,  who  had  borne  abuse  of  himself 
with  Christian  meekness,  could  not  hear  that  unmoved. 
'  My  dear  Sir  George,  my  dear  friend,'  he  urged  very 


54  THE  CASTLE  INN 

seriously,  and  with  a  shocked  face,  '  you  should  not  say 
things  like  that  of  his  lordship.  You  really  should  not  ! 
My  lord  is  a  most  excellent  and ' 

'  Pure  ass  ! '  said  Soane  with  irritation.  '  And  I  wish 
you  would  go  and  divert  him  instead  of  boring  me.' 

'  Dear,  dear,  Sir  George  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  wailed. 
'  But  you  do  not  mean  it  ?  And  I  brought  you  such  good 
news,  as  I  thought.  One  might — one  really  might  sup- 
pose that  you  wished  our  poor  friend  the  worst. ' 

'  I  wish  him  no  worse  a  friend ! '  Sir  George  responded 
sharply;  and  then,  heedless  of  his  visitor's  jDrotestations 
and  excuses  and  offers  of  assistance,  Avould  see  him  to  the 
door. 

It  was  more  easy,  however,  to  be  rid  of  him — the  fine 
gentleman  of  the  time  standing  on  scant  ceremony  with 
his  inferiors — than  of  the  annoyance,  the  smart,  the  vexa- 
tion, his  news  left  behind  him.  Sir  George  was  not  in 
love.  He  would  have  laughed  at  the  notion.  The  girl 
was  absolutely  and  immeasurably  below  him;  a  girl  of 
the  people.  He  had  seen  her  once  only.  In  reason, 
therefore — and  polite  good  breeding  enforced  the  demand 
— he  should  have  viewed  Mr.  Dunborough's  conquest 
with  easy  indifference,  and  complimented  him  with  a  jest 
founded  on  the  prowess  of  Mars  and  the  smiles  of  Venus. 

But  the  girl's  rare  beauty  had  caught  Sir  George's 
fancy;  the  scene  in  which  he  had  taken  part  with  her 
had  captivated  an  imagination  not  easily  inveigled.  On 
the  top  of  these  impressions  had  come  a  period  of  good 
resolutions  prescribed  by  imminent  danger;  and  on  the 
top  of  that  twenty-four  hours  of  solitude — a  thing  rare 
in  the  life  he  led.  Result,  that  Sir  George,  picturing  the 
girl's  fate,  her  proud, passionate  face,  and  her  future,  felt 
a  sting  at  once  selfish  and  unselfish,  a  pang  at  once  gen- 
erous and  vicious.  Perhaps  at  the  bottom  of  his  irritation 
lay  the  feeling  that  if  she  was  to  be  any  man's  prey  she 


A  FISH  OUT  OF  WATER  55 

might  be  his.  But  on  the  whole  his  feelings  were  sur- 
prisingly honest;  they  had  their  root  in  a  better  nature, 
that,  deep  sunk  under  the  surface  of  breeding  and  habit, 
had  been  wholesomely  stirred  by  the  events  of  the  last 
few  days. 

Still,  the  good  and  the  evil  in  the  man  were  so  far  in 
conflict  that,  had  he  been  asked  as  he  walked  to  Magdalen 
what  he  proposed  to  do  should  he  get  speech  with  the 
girl,  it  is  probable  he  would  not  have  known  what  to 
answer.  Courtesy,  nay,  decency  required  that  he  should 
inquire  after  his  antagonist.  If  he  saw  the  girl — and  he 
had  a  sneaking  desire  to  see  her — well.  If  he  did  not  see 
her — still  well;  there  was  an  end  of  a  foolish  imbroglio, 
which  had  occupied  him  too  long  already.  In  an  hour 
he  could  be  in  his  jjost-chaise,  and  a  mile  out  of  town. 

As  it  chanced,  the  surgeons  in  attendance  on  Dunbor- 
ough  had  enjoined  quiet,  and  forbidden  visitors.  The 
staircase  on  which  the  rooms  lay — a  bare,  dusty,  unfur- 
nished place — was  deserted;  and  the  girl  herself  opened 
the  door  to  him,  her  finger  on  her  lips.  He  looked  for 
a  blush  and  a  glance  of  meaning,  a  little  play  of  conscious 
eyes  and  hands,  a  something  of  remembrance  and  co- 
quetry; and  had  his  hat  ready  in  his  hand  and  a  smile  on 
his  lips.  But  she  had  neither  smile  nor  blush  for  him; 
on  the  contrary,  when  the  dim  light  that  entered  the 
dingy  staircase  disclosed  who  awaited  her,  she  drew 
back  a  pace  with  a  look  of  dislike  and  embarrassment. 

'My  good  girl,'  he  said,  speaking  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment — for  the  reception  took  him  aback — '  what  is  it  ? 
What  is  the  matter  ?  ' 

She  did  not  answer,  but  looked  at  him  with  solemn 
eyes,  condemning  him. 

Even  so  Sir  George  was  not  blind  to  the  whiteness  of 
her  throat,  to  the  heavy  coils  of  her  dark  hair,  and  the 
smooth  beauty  of  her  brow.     And  suddenly  he  thought 


56  THE  CASTLE  INN 

he  understood;  and  a  chill  ran  through  him.  'My 
G — d ! '  he  said,  startled ;  '  he  is  not  dead  ?  ' 

She  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and  stood,  her  hand  on 
the  latch.  'No,  he  is  not  dead,'  she  said  stiffly,  voice 
and  look  alike  repellent.  '  But  he  has  not  you  to  thank 
for  that.' 

'Eh?' 

'  How  can  you  come  here  with  that  face,'  she  continued 
with  sudden  passion — and  he  began  to  find  her  eyes  in- 
tolerable— '  and  ask  for  him  ?  You  who — fie,  sir  !  Go 
home  !  Go  home  and  thank  God  that  you  have  not  his 
blood  upon  your  hands — you — who  might  to-day  be  Cain ! ' 

He  gasped .  '  Good  Lord ! '  he  said  unaffectedly.  And 
then,  '  Why,  you  are  the  girl  who  yesterday  would  have 
me  kill  him! '  he  cried  with  indignation;  '  who  came  out 
of  town  to  meet  me,  brought  me  in,  and  would  have 
matched  me  with  him  as  coolly  as  ever  sportsman  set  cock 
in  pit  !  Ay,  you  !  And  now  you  blame  me  !  My  girl, 
blame  yourself !     Call  yourself  Cain,  if  you  please  ! ' 

'  I  do,'  she  said  unblenching.  '  But  I  have  my  excuse. 
God  forgive  me  none  the  less  ! '  Her  eyes  filled  as  she 
said  it.  '  I  had  and  have  my  excuse.  But  you — a  gentle- 
man! What  part  had  you  in  this  ?  Who  were  you  to  kill 
your  fellow-creature — at  the  word  of  a  distraught  girl?' 

Sir  George  saw  his  opening  and  jumped  for  it  viciously. 
'  I  fear  you  honour  me  too  much,'  he  said,  in  the  tone  of 
elaborate  politeness,  which  was  most  likely  to  embarrass 
a  woman  in  her  position.  '  Most  certainly  you  do,  if  you 
are  really  under  the  impression  that  I  fought  Mr.  Dun- 
borough  on  your  account,  my  girl  ! ' 

'  Did  you  not  ?  '  she  stammered ;  and  the  new-born 
doubt  in  her  eyes  betrayed  her  trouble. 

'  Mr.  Dunborough  struck  me,  because  I  would  not  let 
him  fire  on  the  crowd,'  Sir  George  explained,  blandly 
raising  his  quizzing  glass,  but  not  using  it.     '  That  was 


A  FISH  OUT  OF   WATER  57 

why  I  fought  him.  And  that  is  my  excuse.  You  see, 
my  dear,'  he  continued  familiarly,  'we  have  each  an  ex- 
cuse.    But  I  am  not  a  hypocrite.' 

'  Why  do  you  call  me  that?'  she  exclaimed;  distress 
and  shame  at  the  mistake  she  had  made  contending  with 
her  anger. 

'  Because,  my  pretty  Methodist,'  he  answered  coolly, 
'  your  hate  and  your  love  are  too  near  neighbours.  Curs- 
ing and  nursing,  killing  and  billing,  come  not  so  nigh 
one  another  in  my  vocabulary.  But  Avith  women — some 
women — it  is  different.' 

Her  cheeks  burned  with  shame,  but  her  eyes  flashed 
passion.  '  If  I  were  a  lady,'  she  cried,  her  voice  low  but 
intense,  'you  would  not  dare  to  insult  me.' 

'  If  you  were  a  lady, '  he  retorted  with  easy  insolence, 
'  I  would  kiss  you  and  make  you  my  wife,  my  dear.  In 
the  meantime,  and  as  you  are  not — give  up  nursing  young 
sparks  and  go  home  to  your  mother.  Don't  roam  the 
roads  at  night,  and  avoid  travelling-chariots  as  you  would 
the  devil.  Or  the  next  knight-errant  you  light  upon  may 
prove  something  ruder  than — Captain  Berkeley  ! ' 

'  You  are  not  Captain  Berkeley  ? ' 

'No.' 

She  stared  at  him,  breathing  hard.  Then,  '  I  was  a 
fool,  and  I  pay  for  it  in  insult,'  she  said. 

'Be  a  fool  no  longer  then,'  he  retorted,  his  good- 
humour  restored  by  the  success  of  his  badinage;  '  and  no 
man  will  have  the  right  to  insult  you,  ma  belle.'' 

'  I  will  never  give  you  the  right  ! '  she  cried  with  in- 
tention. 

'  It  is  rather  a  question  of  Mr.  Dunborough,'  he  an- 
swered, smiling  superior,  and  flirting  his  spy-glass  to  and 
fro  with  his  fingers.  '  Say  the  same  to  him,  and — but 
are  you  going,  my  queen  ?     What,  without  ceremony  ?  ' 

'  I  am  not  a  lady,  and  nohlesse  ohlige  does  not  apply  to 


58  THE  CASTLE  INN 

me,'  she  cried.  And  she  closed  the  door  in  his  face — 
sharply,  yet  without  noise. 

He  went  down  the  stairs  a  step  at  a  time — thinking. 
'  Now,  I  wonder  where  she  got  that  ! '  he  muttered. 
'  Noblesse  oblige !  And  well  applied  too  !  '  Again, 
'Lord,  what  beasts  we  men  are! '  he  thought.  'Insult? 
I  suppose  I  did  insult  her;  but  I  had  to  do  that  or  kiss 
her.  And  she  earned  it,  the  little  firebrand ! '  Then 
standing  and  looking  along  the  High — he  had  reached 
the  College  gates — '  D — n  Dunborough!  She  is  too  good 
for  him !  For  a  very  little — it  would  be  mean,  it  would 
be  low,  it  would  be  cursed  low — but  for  two  pence  I 
would  speak  to  her  mother  and  cheat  him.  She  is  too 
good  to  be  ruined  by  that  coarse-tongued  boaster! 
Though  I  suppose  she  fancies  him.  I  suppose  he  is  an 
Adonis  to  her!  Faugh!  Tommy,  my  lord,  and  Dun- 
borough  !     What  a  crew ! ' 

The  good  and  evil,  spleen  and  patience,  which  he  had 
displayed  in  his  interview  with  the  girl  rode  him  still; 
for  at  the  door  of  the  Mitre  he  paused,  went  in,  came 
out,  and  paused  again.  He  seemed  to  be  unable  to  decide 
what  he  would  do;  but  in  the  end  he  pursued  his  way 
along  the  street  with  a  clouded  brow,  and  in  five  minutes 
found  himself  at  the  door  of  the  mean  house  in  the  court, 
whence  the  porter  of  Pembroke  had  gone  out  night  and 
morning.  Here  he  knocked,  and  stood.  In  a  moment 
the  door  was  opened,  but  to  his  astonishment  by  Mr. 
Fishwick. 

Either  the  attorney  shared  his  surprise,  or  had  another 
and  more  serious  cause  for  emotion;  for  his  perky  face 
turned  red,  and  his  manner  as  he  stood  holding  the  door 
half-open,  and  gaping  at  the  visitor,  was  that  of  a  man 
taken  in  the  act,  and  thoroughly  ashamed  of  himself. 
Sir  George  might  have  wondered  what  was  afoot,  if  he 
had  not  espied  over  the  lawyer's  shoulder  a  round  wooden 


A  FISH  OUT  OF   WATER  59 

table  littered  with  papers,  and  guessed  that  Mr.  Fisliwick 
was  doing  the  widow's  business — a  theory  which  Mr. 
Fishwick's  first  words,  on  recovering  himself,  bore  out. 

'  I  am  here — on  business,'  he  said,  cringing  and  rubbing 
his  hands.  '  I  don't— I  don't  think  that  you  can  object. 
Sir  George.' 

'  I  ?  '  said  Soane,  staring  at  him  in  astonishment  and 
some  contempt.  '  My  good  man,  what  has  it  to  do  with 
me  ?     You  got  my  letter  ?  ' 

'  And  the  draft.  Sir  George  ! '  Mr.  Fishwick  bowed 
low.  '  Certainly,  certainly,  sir.  Too  much  honoured. 
Which,  as  I  understood,  put  an  end  to  any — I  mean  it 
not  offensively,  honoured  sir — to  any  connection  between 
us?' 

Sir  George  nodded.  '  I  have  my  own  lawyers  in  Lon- 
don,' he  said  stiffly.  'I  thought  I  made  it  clear  that  I 
did  not  need  your  services  further. ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  rubbed  his  hands.  '  I  have  that  from 
your  own  lips,  Sir  George,'  he  said.  'Mrs.  Masterson, 
my  good  woman,  you  heard  that  ?  ' 

Sir  George  glowered  at  him.  '  Lord,  man  ?  '  he  said. 
'  Why  so  much  about  nothing  ?  What  on  earth  has  this 
woman  to  do  with  it  ?  ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  trembled  with  excitement.  '  Mrs.  Mas- 
terson, you  will  not  answer,'  he  stammered. 

Sir  George  first  stared,  then  cursed  his  impudence; 
then,  remembering  that  after  all  this  was  not  his  business, 
or  that  on  which  he  had  come,  and  being  one  of  those 
obstinates  whom  opposition  but  precipitates  to  their  ends, 
'Hark  ye,  man,  stand  aside,'  he  said.  'I  did  not  come 
here  to  talk  to  you.  And  do  you,  my  good  woman,  at- 
tend to  me  a  moment.  I  have  a  word  to  say  about  your 
daughter. ' 

'Not  a  word!  Mrs.  Masterson,'  the  attorney  cried,  his 
eyes  almost  bursting  from  his  head  with  excitement. 


60  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

Sir  George  was  thunderstruck.  '  Is  the  man  an  idiot  ?  ' 
he  exclaimed,  staring  at  him.  And  then,  '  I'll  tell  you 
what  it  is,  Mr.  Fishwick,  or  whatever  your  name  is — a 
little  more  of  this,  and  I  shall  lay  my  cane  across  your 
back.' 

'  I  am  in  my  duty, '  the  attorney  answered,  dancing  on 
his  feet. 

'Then  you  will  suSer  in  it!'  Sir  George  retorted. 
*  With  better  men.  So  do  not  try  me  too  far.  I  am  here 
to  say  a  word  to  this  woman  which  I  would  rather  say 
alone.' 

'Never,'  said  the  attorney,  bubbling,  'with  my  good 
will  !  ' 

Soane  lost  patience  at  that.  '  D — n  you  ! '  he  cried. 
'  Will  you  be  quiet  ?  '  And  made  a  cut  at  him  with  his 
cane.  Fortunately  the  lawyer  evaded  it  with  nimbleness; 
and  having  escaped  to  a  safe  distance  hastened  to  cry  '  No 
malice  !  I  bear  you  no  malice,  sir! '  with  so  little  breath 
and  so  much  good-nature  that  Sir  George  recovered  his 
balance.  '  Confound  you,  man ! '  he  continued.  '  Why 
am  I  not  to  speak  ?  I  came  here  to  tell  this  good  woman 
that  if  she  has  a  care  for  this  girl  the  sooner  she  takes 
her  from  where  she  is  the  better  !  And  you  cannot  let 
me  put  a  word  in. ' 

'  You  came  for  that,  sir  ?  ' 

'  For  what  else,  fool  ?  ' 

'  I  was  wrong,'  said  the  attorney  humbly.  '  I  did  not 
understand.  Allow  me  to  say,  sir,  that  I  am  entirely  o| 
your  opinion.  The  young  lady — I  mean  she  shall  be  re- 
moved to-morrow.  It — the  whole  arrangement  is  im- 
proper— highly  improper.' 

'  Why,  you  go  as  fast  now  as  you  went  slowly  before,' 
Sir  George  said,  observing  him  curiously. 

j\Ir.  Fishwick  smiled  after  a  sickly  fashion.  '  I  did  not 
understand,  sir,'  he  said.     'But  it  is  most  unsuitable. 


A   FISH  OUT  OF   WATEM  61 

most  unsuitable.      She  shall   return   to-morrow  at   the 
latest.' 

Sir  George,  who  had  said  what  he  had  to  say,  nodded, 
grunted,  and  went  away;  feeling  that  he  had  performed 
an  unpleasant — and  somewhat  doubtful — duty  under  most 
adverse  circumstances.  He  could  not  in  the  least  com- 
prehend the  attorney's  strange  behaviour;  but  after  some 
contemptuous  reflection,  of  which  nothing  came,  he  dis- 
missed it  as  one  of  the  low  things  to  which  he  had  exposed 
himself  by  venturing  out  of  the  charmed  circle  in  which 
he  lived.  He  hoped  that  the  painf  al  series  was  now  at 
an  end,  stepped  into  his  postchaise,  amid  the  reverent 
salaams  of  the  Mitre,  the  landlord  holding  the  door;  and 
in  a  few  minutes  had  rattled  over  Folly  Bridge,  and  left 
Oxford  behind  him. 


CHAPTEK  VII 

ACHILLES    AND    BKISEIS 

The  honourable  Mr.  Dimborough's  collapse  arising 
rather  from  loss  of  blood  than  from  an  injury  to  a  vital 
part,  he  was  sufficiently  recovered  even  on  the  day  after 
the  meeting  to  appreciate  his  nurse's  presence.  Twice 
he  was  heard  to  chuckle  without  apparent  cause;  once  he 
strove^,  but  failed,  to  detain  her  hand;  while  the  feeble 
winks  which  from  time  to  time  he  bestowed  on  Mr. 
Thomasson  when  her  back  was  towards  him  were  attrib- 
uted by  that  gentleman,  who  should  have  known  the 
patient,  to  reflections  closely  connected  with  her  charms. 

His  rage  was  great,  therefore,  when  three  days  after 
the  duel,  he  awoke,  missed  her,  and  found  in  her  place 
the  senior  bedmaker  of  Magdalen — a  worthy  woman, 
learned  in  simj^les  and  with  hands  of  horn,  but  far  from 
beautiful.  This  good  person  he  saluted  with  a  vigour 
which  proved  him  already  far  on  the  road  to  recovery; 
and  when  he  was  tired  of  swearing,  he  wept  and  threw 
his  nightcap  at  her.  Finally,  between  one  and  the 
other,  and  neither  availing  to  bring  back  his  Briseis,  he 
fell  into  a  fever;  which,  as  he  was  kept  happed  up  in  a 
box-bed,  in  a  close  room,  with  every  window  shut  and 
every  draught  kept  off  by  stuffy  curtains — such  was  the 
fate  of  sick  men  then — bade  fair  to  postpone  his  recovery 
to  a  very  distant  date. 

In  this  plight  he  sent  one  day  for  Mr.  Thomasson,  who 
had  the  nominal  care  of  the  young  gentleman;  and  the 


ACHILLES  AND  B RISE  IS  63 

tutor  being  brought  from  the  club  tavern  in  the  Corn 
Market  which  he  occasionally  condescended  to  frequent, 
the  invalid  broke  to  him  his  resolution. 

'  See  here,  Tommy,'  he  said  in  a  voice  weak  but  vicious. 
'  You  have  got  to  get  her  back.  I  Avill  not  be  poisoned 
by  this  musty  old  witch  any  longer.' 

'  But  if  she  will  not  come  ?  '  said  Mr.  Thomasson  sadly. 

'  The  little  fool  threw  up  the  sponge  when  she  came 
before,'  the  patient  answered,  tossing  restlessly.  'And 
she  will  come  again,  with  a  little  pressure.  Lord,  I  know 
the  women!     So  should  you.' 

'  She  came  before  because — well,  I  do  not  quite  know 
why  she  came,'  Mr.  Thomasson  confessed. 

'  Any  way,  you  have  got  to  get  her  back.' 

The  tutor  remonstrated.  'My  dear  good  man,'  he 
said  unctuously,  '  you  don't  think  of  my  position.  I  am 
a  man  of  the  world,  I  know ' 

'  All  of  it,  my  Macaroni  ! ' 

'  But  I  cannot  be — be  mixed  up  in  such  a  matter  as 
this,  my  dear  sir.' 

'  All  the  same,  you  have  got  to  get  her,'  was  the  stub- 
born answer.  '  Or  I  write  to  my  lady  and  tell  her  you 
kept  mum  about  my  wound.  And  you  will  not  like  that, 
my  tulip.' 

On  that  point  he  was  right;  for  if  there  was  a  person 
in  the  world  of  whom  Mr.  Thomasson  stood  in  especial 
awe,  it  was  of  Lady  Dunborough.  My  lord,  the  author 
of  '  Pomaria  Britaunica '  and  '  The  Elegant  Art  of  Pomi- 
culture as  applied  to  Landscape  Gardening,'  was  a  quan- 
tity he  could  safely  neglect.  Beyond  his  yew-walks  and 
his  orchards  his  lordship  was  a  cipher.  He  had  proved 
too  respectable  even  for  the  peerage;  and  of  late  had 
cheerfully  resigned  all  his  affairs  into  the  hands  of  his 
wife,  formerly  the  Lady  Michal  M'Intosh,  a  penniless 
beauty,  with  the  pride  of  a  Scotchwoman  and  the  temper 


64  THE  CASTLE  INN 

of  a  Hervey.  Her  enemies  said  that  my  lady  had  tripped 
in  the  merry  days  of  George  the  Second,  and  now  made 
up  for  past  easiness  by  present  hardness.  Her  friends — 
but  it  must  be  confessed  her  ladyship  had  no  friends. 

Be  that  as  it  might,  Mr.  Thomasson  had  refrained  from 
summoning  her  to  her  son's  bedside;  partly  because  the 
surgeons  had  quickly  pronounced  the  wound  a  trifle, 
much  more  because  the  little  he  had  seen  of  her  ladyship 
had  left  him  no  taste  to  see  more.  He  knew,  however, 
that  the  omission  would  weigh  heavily  against  him  were 
it  known;  and  as  he  had  hopes  from  my  lady's  aristo- 
cratic connections,  and  need  in  certain  difficulties  of  all 
the  aid  he  could  muster,  he  found  the  threat  not  one  to 
be  sneezed  at.     His  laugh  betrayed  this. 

However,  he  tried  to  put  the  best  face  on  the  matter. 
*  You  won't  do  that,'  he  said.  '  She  would  spoil  sport, 
my  friend.  Her  ladyship  is  no  fool,  and  would  not  suffer 
your  little  amusements. ' 

'  She  is  no  fool,'  Mr.  Dunborough  replied  with  em- 
phasis. '  As  you  will  find.  Tommy,  if  she  comes  to  Ox- 
ford, and  learns  certain  things.  It  will  be  farewell  to 
your  chance  of  having  that  milksop  of  a  Marquis  for  a 
pupil ! ' 

Now,  it  was  one  of  Mr.  Thomasson's  highest  ambitions 
at  this  time  to  have  the  young  Marquis  of  Carmarthen 
entrusted  to  him;  and  Lady  Dunborough  was  connected 
with  the  family,  and,  it  was  said,  had  interest  there.  He 
was  silent. 

'You  see,'  Mr.  Dunborough  continued,  marking  with 
a  chuckle  the  effect  his  words  had  produced,  '  you  have 
got  to  get  her.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  did  not  admit  that  that  was  so,  but  he 
writhed  in  his  chair;  and  presently  he  took  his  leave  and 
went  away,  his  plump  pale  face  gloomy  and  the  crow's 
feet  showing  plain  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes.     He  had 


ACHILLES  AND  B  RISE  IS  65 

given  no  promise;  but  that  evening  a  messenger  from  the 
college  requested  Mrs.  Masterson  to  attend  at  his  rooms 
on  the  following  morning. 

She  did  not  go.  At  the  appointed  hour,  however,  there 
came  a  knock  on  the  tutor's  door,  and  that  gentleman, 
who  had  sent  his  servant  out  of  the  way,  found  Mr.  Fish- 
wick  on  the  landing,  '  Tut-tut  ! '  said  the  don  with  some 
brusqueness,  his  hand  still  on  the  door;  'do  you  want 
me  ?  '  He  had  seen  the  attorney  after  the  duel,  and  in 
the  confusion  attendant  on  the  injured  man's  removal; 
and  knew  him  by  sight,  but  no  farther. 

'  I — hem — I  think  you  wished  to  see  Mrs.  Masterson  ?  ' 
was  Mr.  Fishwick's  answer,  and  the  lawyer,  but  with  all 
humility,  made  as  if  he  would  enter. 

The  tutor,  however,  barred  the  way.  '  I  wished  to  see 
Mrs.  Masterson,'  he  said  drily,  and  with  his  coldest  air 
of  authority.   '  But  Avho  are  you  ?  ' 

'I  am  here  on  her  behalf,'  Mr.  Fish  wick  answered, 
meekly  pressing  his  hat  in  his  hands. 

'  On  her  behalf  ?  '  said  Mr.  Thomasson  stiffly.  '  Is  she 
ill?' 

'  No,  sir,  I  do  not  know  that  she  is  ill. ' 

'Then  I  do  not  understand,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered 
in  his  most  dignified  tone.  '  Are  you  aware  that  the 
woman  is  in  the  position  of  a  college  servant,  inhabiting 
a  cottage  the  property  of  the  college  ?  And  liable  to  be 
turned  out  at  the  college  will  ?  ' 

*  It  may  be  so,'  said  the  attorney. 

'  Then,  if  you  please,  what  is  the  meaning  of  her  ab- 
sence when  requested  by  one  of  the  Fellows  of  the  college 
to  attend  ? ' 

'  I  am  here  to  represent  her,'  said  Mr.  Fish  wick. 

'  Eepresent  her  !  Eepresent  a  college  laundress  !  Pooh! 
I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.' 

'  But,  sir,  I  am  her  legal  adviser,  and ' 

5 


66  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Legal  adviser  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  retorted,  turning 
purple — he  was  really  puzzled.  '  A  bed-maker  with  a 
legal  adviser  !  It's  the  height  of  impudence  !  Begone, 
sir,  and  take  it  from  me,  that  the  best  advice  you  can 
give  her  is  to  attend  me  within  the  hour.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  looked  rather  blue.  '  If  it  has  nothing 
to  do  with  her  property,'  he  said  reluctantly,  and  as  if  he 
had  gone  too  far. 

'  Property  ! '  said  Mr.  Thomasson,  gasping. 

'  Or  her  affairs.' 

'  Affairs  ! '  the  tutor  cried.  '  I  never  heard  of  a  bed- 
maker  having  affairs. ' 

'Well,'  said  the  lawyer  doggedly,  and  with  the  air  of 
a  man  goaded  into  telling  what  he  wished  to  conceal,  '  she 
is  leaving  Oxford.     That  is  the  fact.' 

*  Oh ! '  said  Mr.  Thomasson,  falling  on  a  sudden  into 
the  minor  key.     '  And  her  daughter  ?  ' 

'And  her  daughter.' 

'  That  is  unfortunate,'  the  tutor  answered,  thoughtfully 
rubbing  his  hands.  '  The  truth  is — the  girl  proved  so 
good  a  nurse  in  the  case  of  my  noble  friend  who  was  in- 
jured the  other  day — my  lord  Viscount  Dunborough's  son, 
a  most  valuable  life — that  since  she  absented  herself,  he 
has  not  made  the  same  progress.  And  as  I  am  respon- 
sible for  him ' 

'  She  should  never  have  attended  him ! '  the  attorney 
answered  with  unexpected  sharpness. 

'  Indeed  !  And  why  not,  may  I  ask  ? '  the  tutor  in- 
quired. 

Mr.  Fishwick  did  not  answer  the  question.  Instead, 
'  She  would  not  have  gone  to  him  in  the  first  instance,' 
he  said,  '  but  that  she  was  under  a  misapprehension.' 

'  A  misapprehension  ?  ' 

'  She  thought  that  the  duel  lay  at  her  door, '  the  attor- 
ney answered;    'and  in  that  belief  was  impelled  to  do 


ACHILLES  AND  BRISEIS  67 

what  she  could  to  undo  the  consequences.  Komantic,  but 
a  most  improper  step ! ' 

'  Improper! '  said  the  tutor,  much  ruffled,  '  And  why, 
sir?' 

'Most  improper,'  the  attorney  repeated  in  a  dry, busi- 
ness-like tone.  '  I  am  instructed  that  the  gentleman  had 
for  weeks  past  paid  her  attentions  which,  his  station  con- 
sidered, could  scarcely  be  honourable,  and  of  which  she 
had  more  than  once  expressed  her  dislike.  Under  those 
circumstances,  to  expose  her  to  his  suit — but  no  more 
need  be  said,'  the  attorney  added,  breaking  off  and  tak- 
ing a  pinch  of  snuff  with  great  enjoyment,  '  as  she  is 
leaving  the  city.' 

Mr,  Thomasson  had  much  ado  to  mask  his  chagrin 
under  a  show  of  contemptuous  incredulity.  '  The  wench 
has  too  fine  a  conceit  of  herself  ! '  he  blurted  out.  '  Hark 
you,  sir — this  is  a  fable  !  I  wonder  you  dare  to  put  it 
about.  A  gentleman  of  the  station  of  my  lord  Dunbor- 
ough's  son  does  not  condescend  to  the  gutter  ! ' 

'  I  will  convey  the  remark  to  my  client, '  said  the  attor- 
ney, bristling  all  over. 

'  Client! '  Mr,  Thomasson  retorted,  trembling  with  rage 
— for  he  saw  the  advantage  he  had  given  the  enemy. 
'  Since  when  had  laundry  maids  lawyers  ?  Client!  Pho ! 
Begone,  sir  !  You  are  abusive.  I'll  have  you  looked  up 
on  the  rolls.     I'll  have  your  name  taken! ' 

'I  would  not  talk  of  names  if  I  were  you,'  cried  Mr. 
Fishwick,  reddening  in  his  turn  with  rage.  '  Men  give 
a  name  to  what  you  are  doing  this  morning,  and  it  is  not 
a  pleasant  one.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  sir,  that  Mr.  Dunbor- 
ough  pays  you  well  for  your  services  ! ' 

'  You — insolent  rascal  ! '  the  tutor  stammered,  losing 
in  a  moment  all  his  dignity  and  becoming  a  pale  flabby 
man,  with  the  spite  and  the  terror  of  crime  in  his  face. 
'You — begone!     Begone,  sir.' 


68  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'Willingly,'  said  the  attorney,  swelling  with  defiance. 
'  You  may  tell  your  principal  that  when  he  means  mar- 
riage, he  may  come  to  us.  Not  before.  I  take  my  leave, 
sir.  Good  morning.'  And  with  that  he  strutted  out  and 
marched  slowly  and  majestically  down  the  stairs. 

He  bore  off  the  honours  of  war.  Mr.  Thomasson,  left 
among  his  Titian  copies,  his  gleaming  Venuses,  and  relvet 
curtains,  was  a  sorry  thing.  The  man  who  preserves  a 
cloak  of  outward  decency  has  always  this  vulnerable  spot; 
strip  him,  and  he  sees  himself  as  others  see  or  may  see 
him,  and  views  his  ugliness  with  griping  qualms.  Mr. 
Thomasson  bore  the  exposure  awhile,  sitting  white  and 
shaking  in  a  chair,  seeing  himself  and  seeing  the  end, 
and,  like  the  devils,  believing  and  trembling.  Then  he 
rose  and  staggered  to  a  little  cupboard,  the  door  of  which 
was  adorned  with  a  pretty  Greek  motto,  and  a  hovering 
Cupid  painted  in  a  blue  sky;  whence  he  filled  himself  a 
glass  of  cordial.  A  second  glass  followed;  this  restored 
the  colour  to  his  cheeks  and  the  brightness  to  his  eyes. 
He  shivered;  then  smacked  his  lips  and  began  to  reflect 
what  face  he  should  put  upon  it  when  he  went  to  report 
to  his  jjupil. 

In  deciding  that  point  he  made  a  mistake.  Unluckily 
for  himself  and  others,  in  the  version  which  he  chose  he 
was  careful  to  include  all  matters  likely  to  arouse  Dunbor- 
ough's  resentment;  in  particular  he  laid  malicious  stress 
upon  the  attorney's  scornful  words  about  a  marriage. 
This,  however — and  perhaps  the  care  he  took  to  repeat  it 
— had  an  unlooked-for  result.  Mr.  Dunborough  began 
by  cursing  the  rogue's  impudence,  and  did  it  with  all  the 
heat  his  best  friend  could  desire.  But,  being  confined  to 
his  room,  haunted  by  the  vision  of  his  flame,  yet  debarred 
from  any  attempt  to  see  her,  his  mood  presently  changed; 
his  heart  became  as  water,  and  he  fell  into  a  maudlin 
state  about  her.     Dwelling  constantly  on  memories  of  his 


ACHILLES  AND  BRISEIS  69 

Briseis — whose  name,  by  the  way,  was  Julia — having  her 
shape  and  complexion,  her  gentle  touch  and  her  smile, 
always  in  his  mind,  while  he  was  unable  in  the  body  to 
see  so  much  as  the  hem  of  her  gown,  Achilles  grew  weaker 
in  will  as  he  grew  stronger  in  body.  Headstrong  and 
reckless  by  nature,  unaccustomed  to  thwart  a  desire  or 
deny  himself  a  gratification,  Mr.  Dunborough  began  to 
contemplate  paying  even  the  last  price  for  her;  and  one 
day,  about  three  weeks  after  the  duel,  dropped  a  word 
which  frightened  Mr.  Thomasson. 

He  was  well  enough  by  this  time  to  be  up,  and  was 
looking  through  one  window  while  the  tutor  lounged  in 
the  seat  of  another.  On  a  sudden  '  Lord  ! '  said  he, 
with  a  laugh  that  broke  off  short  in  the  middle. 
'  What  was  the  queer  catch  that  fellow  sang  last  night  ? 
About  a  bailiff's  daughter.  "Well,  why  not  a  porter's 
daughter  ? ' 

'  Because  you  are  neither  young  enough,  nor  old 
enough,  nor  mad  enough ! '  said  Mr.  Thomasson  cynically, 
supposing  the  other  meant  nothing. 

'It  is  she  that  would  be  mad,'  the  young  gentleman 
answered,  with  a  grim  chuckle.  '  I  should  take  it  out  of 
her  sooner  or  later.  And,  after  all,  she  is  as  good  as  Lady 
Macclesfield  or  Lady  Falmouth  !  As  good  ?  She  is  bet- 
ter, the  saucy  baggage!  By  the  Lord,  I  have  a  good 
mind  to  do  it  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  sat  dumbfounded.  At  length,  '  You 
are  jesting  !     You  cannot  mean  it,'  he  said. 

'  If  it  is  marriage  or  nothing — and,  hang  her,  she  is  as 
cold  as  a  church  pillar — I  do  mean  it,'  the  gentleman 
answered  viciously;  'and  so  would  you  if  you  were  not 
an  old  insensible  sinner  !  Think  of  her  ankle,  man  ! 
Think  of  her  waist  !  I  never  saw  a  waist  to  compare  with 
it  !  Even  in  the  Havanna  !  She  is  a  pearl  !  She  is  a 
jewel  !     She  is  incomparable  ! ' 


70  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  And  a  porter's  daughter  ! ' 

'  Faugh,  I  don't  believe  it.'  And  he  took  his  oath  on 
the  point. 

'  You  make  me  sick ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  said ;  and  meant 
it.  Then,  '  My  dear  friend,  I  see  how  it  is, '  he  con- 
tinued. '  You  have  the  fever  on  you  still,  or  you  would 
not  dream  of  such  things.' 

'  But  I  do  dream  of  her — every  night,  confound  her! ' 
Mr.  Dunborough  said;  and  he  groaned  like  a  love-sick 
boy.  'Oh,  hang  it.  Tommy,'  he  continued  plaintively, 
'  she  has  a  kind  of  look  in  her  eyes  when  she  is  pleased — 
that  makes  you  think  of  dewy  mornings  when  you  were 
a  boy  and  went  fishing. ' 

'  It  is  the  fever! '  Mr.  Thomasson  said, with  conviction. 
'  It  is  heavy  on  him  still. '  Then,  more  seriously,  '  My 
very  dear  sir,'  he  continued,  'do  you  know  that  if  you 
had  your  will  you  would  be  miserable  within  the  week. 
Kemember — 

"Tis  tumult,  disorder,  'tis  loathing  and  hate  ; 
Caprice  gives  it  birth,  and  contempt  is  its  fate  ! ' 

'  Gad,  Tommy  ! '  said  Mr.  Dunborough,  aghast  with 
admiration  at  the  aptness  of  the  lines.  '  That  is  uncom- 
mon clever  of  you  !  But  I  shall  do  it  all  the  same,'  he 
continued,  in  a  tone  of  melancholy  foresight.  '  I  know 
I  shall.  I  am  a  fool,  a  particular  fool.  But  I  shall  do 
it.     Marry  in  haste  and  repent  at  leisure  ! ' 

'  A  porter's  daughter  become  Lady  Dunborough ! '  cried 
Mr.  Thomasson  with  scathing  sarcasm. 

'Oh  yes,  my  tulip,'  Mr.  Dunborough  answered  with 
gloomy  meaning.  '  But  there  have  been  worse.  I  know 
what  I  know.  See  Collins's  Peerage,  volume  4,  page  242: 
"  Married  firstly  Sarah,  widow  of  Colonel  John  Clark,  of 
Exeter,  in  the  county  of  Devon  " — all  a  hum.  Tommy  ! 
If  they  had  said  spinster,  of  Bridewell,  in  the  county  of 


ACHILLES  AND  BRISEIS  71 

Middlesex,  'twould  have  been  as  true  !  I  know  what  I 
know.' 

After  that  Mr.  Thomasson  went  ont  of  Magdalen,  feel- 
ing that  the  world  was  turning  round  with  him.  If  Dun- 
borough  were  capable  of  such  a  stejD  as  this — Dunborough, 
who  had  seen  life  and  service,  and  of  whose  past  he  knew 
a  good  deal — where  Avas  he  to  place  dependence  ?  How 
was  he  to  trust  even  the  worst  of  his  acquaintances  ?  The 
matter  shook  the  pillars  of  the  tutor's  house,  and  filled 
him  with  honest  disgust. 

Moreover,  it  frightened  him.  In  certain  circumstances 
he  might  have  found  his  advantage  in  fostering  such  a 
mesalliance.  But  here,  not  only  had  he  reason  to  think 
himself  distasteful  to  the  young  lady  whose  elevation  was 
in  prospect,  but  he  retained  too  vivid  a  recollection  of 
Lady  Dunborough  to  hope  that  that  lady  would  forget  or 
forgive  him  !  Moreover,  at  the  present  moment  he  was 
much  straitened  for  money;  difficulties  of  long  standing 
were  coming  to  a  climax.  Venuses  and  Titian  copies 
have  to  be  paid  for.  The  tutor,  scared  by  the  prospect, 
to  which  he  had  lately  opened  his  eyes,  saw  in  early  pre- 
ferment or  a  wealthy  pupil  his  only  way  of  escape.  And 
in  Lady  Dunborough  lay  his  main  hope,  which  a  catas- 
trophe of  this  nature  would  inevitably  shatter.  That 
evening  he  sent  his  servant  to  learn  what  he  could  of 
the  Mastersons'  movements. 

The  man  brought  word  that  they  had  left  the  town 
that  morning;  that  the  cottage  was  closed,  and  the  key 
had  been  deposited  at  the  college  gates. 

'Did  you  learn  their  destination?'  the  tutor  asked, 
trimming  his  finger-nails  with  an  appearance  of  indiffer- 
ence. 

The  servant  said  he  had  not;  and  after  adding  the 
common  gossip  of  the  court,  that  Masterson  had  left 
money,  and  the  widow  had  gone  to  her  own  people,  con- 


73  THE  CASTLE  INN 

eluded,  *  But  they  were  very  close  after  Masterson's 
death,  and  the  neighbours  saw  little  of  them.  There  was 
a  lawyer  in  and  out,  a  stranger;  and  it  is  thought  he 
was  to  marry  the  girl,  and  that  that  had  set  them  a  bit 
above  their  position,  sir.' 

'  That  will  do,'  said  the  tutor.  'I  want  to  hear  no 
gossip.'  And,  hiding  his  joy,  he  went  off  hot-foot  to 
communicate  the  news  to  his  pupil. 

But  Mr.  Dunborough  laughed  in  his  face.  '  Pooh  ! ' 
he  said.     '  I  know  where  they  are.' 

'  You  know  ?  Then  where  are  they  ?  '  Thomasson 
asked. 

'  Ah,  my  good  Tommy,  that  is  telling. ' 

'Well,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered,  with  an  assumption 
of  dignity.  '  At  any  rate  they  are  gone.  And  you  must 
allow  me  to  say  that  I  am  glad  of  it — for  your  sake  ! ' 

'That  is  as  maybe,'  Mr.  Dunborough  answered.  And 
he  took  his  first  airing  in  a  sedan  next  day.  After  that 
he  grew  so  reticent  about  his  affairs,  and  so  truculent 
when  the  tutor  tried  to  sound  him,  that  Mr.  Thomasson 
was  at  his  wits'  end  to  discern  what  was  afoot.  For  some 
time,  however,  he  got  no  clue.  Then,  going  to  Dunbor- 
ough's  rooms  one  day,  he  found  them  empty,  and,  brib- 
ing the  servant,  learned  that  his  master  had  gone  to 
Wallingford.  And  the  man  told  him  his  suspicions. 
Mr.  Thomasson  was  aghast;  and  by  that  day's  post — 
after  much  searching  of  heart  and  long  pondering  into 
which  scale  he  should  throw  his  weight — he  despatched 
the  following  letter  to  Lady  Dunborough : 

'  Honoured  Madam,  —The  peculiar  care  I  have  of  that 
distinguished  and  excellent  gentleman,  your  son,  no  less 
than  the  profound  duty  I  owe  to  my  lord  and  your  lady- 
ship, induces  me  to  a  step  which  I  cannot  regard  without 
misgiving;  since,  once  known,  it  must  deprive  me  of  the 


ACHILLES  AND  BRIBE  IS  73 

influence  with  Mr.  Dimborough  which  I  have  now  the 
felicity  to  enjoy,  and  which,  heightened  by  the  affection 
he  is  so  good  as  to  bestow  on  me,  renders  his  society  the 
most  agreeable  in  the  world.  Nevertheless,  and  though 
considerations  of  this  sort  cannot  but  have  weight  with 
me,  I  am  not  able  to  be  silent,  nor  allow  your  honoured 
repose  among  the  storied  oaks  of  Papworth  to  be  roughly 
shattered  by  a  blow  that  may  still  be  averted  by  skill  and 
conduct. 

'  For  particulars,  Madam,  the  young  gentleman — I  say 
it  with  regret — has  of  late  been  drawn  into  a  connection 
with  a  girl  of  low  origin  and  suitable  behaviour.  Not 
that  your  ladyship  is  to  think  me  so  wanting  in  savoir- 
faire  as  to  trouble  your  ears  with  this,  were  it  all;  but 
the  person  concerned — who  (I  need  scarcely  tell  one  so 
familiar  with  Mr.  Dunborough's  amiable  disposition)  is 
solely  to  blame — has  the  wit  to  affect  virtue,  and  by  means 
of  this  pretence,  often  resorted  to  by  creatures  of  that 
class,  has  led  my  generous  but  misguided  pupil  to  the 
point  of  matrimony.  Your  ladyship  shudders  ?  Alas  ! 
it  is  so.  I  have  learned  within  the  hour  that  he  has  fol- 
lowed her  to  Wallingford,  whither  she  has  withdrawn 
herself,  doubtless  to  augment  his  passion ;  I  am  forced  to 
conclude  that  nothing  short  of  your  ladyship's  presence 
and  advice  can  now  stay  his  purpose.  In  that  belief, 
and  with  the  most  profound  regret,  I  pen  these  lines; 
and  respectfully  awaiting  the  favour  of  your  ladyship's 
commands,  which  shall  ever  evoke  my  instant  compliance, 

'  I  have  the  honour  to  be  while  I  live.  Madam, 
Your  ladyship's  most  humble  obedient  servant, 

'  Frederick  Thomasson". 

'  Nota  hene. — I  do  not  commend  the  advantage  of 
silence  in  regard  to  this  communication,  this  being 
patent  to  your  ladyship's  sagacity.' 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    OLD     BATH     EOAD 

In  the  year  1757 — to  go  back  ten  years  from  the  spring 
with  wliich  we  are  dealing — the  ordinary  Englishman 
was  a  Balbus  despairing  of  the  State.  No  phrase  was 
then  more  common  on  English  lips,  or  in  English  ears, 
than  the  statement  that  the  days  of  England's  greatness 
were  numbered,  and  were  fast  running  out.  Unwitting 
the  wider  sphere  about  to  open  before  them,  men  dwelt 
fondly  on  the  glories  of  the  past.  The  old  babbled  of 
Marlborough's  wars,  of  the  entrance  of  Prince  Eugene 
into  London,  of  choirs  draped  in  flags,  and  steeples  reel- 
ing giddily  for  Eamillies  and  Blenheim.  The  young 
listened,  and  sighed  to  think  that  the  day  had  been,  and 
was  not,  when  England  gave  the  law  to  Europe,  and 
John  ChurchiU's  warder  set  troops  moving  from  Ham- 
burg to  the  Alps. 

On  the  top  of  such  triumphs,  and  the  famous  reign  of 
good  Queen  Anne,  had  ensued  forty  years  of  peace,  broken 
only  by  one  inglorious  war.  The  peace  did  its  work:  it 
settled  the  dynasty,  and  filled  the  purse;  but  men,  con- 
sidering it,  whispered  of  effeminacy  and  degeneracy,  and 
the  like,  as  men  will  to  the  end  of  time.  And  when  the 
clouds,  long  sighted  on  the  political  horizon,  began  to  roll 
up,  they  looked  fearfully  abroad  and  doubted  and  trem- 
bled; and  doubted  and  trembled  the  more  because  in 
home  affairs  all  patriotism,  all  party-spirit,  all  thought 
of  things  higher  than  ribbon  or  place  or  jjension,  seemed 


THE  OLD  BATH  ROAD  75 

to  be  dead  among  public  men.  The  Tories,  long  de- 
prived of  power,  and  discredited  by  the  taint  or  suspicion 
of  Jacobitism,  counted  for  nothing.  The  Whigs,  agreed 
on  all  i^oints  of  principle,  and  split  into  sections,  the  Ins 
and  Outt?,  solely  by  the  fact  that  all  could  not  enjoy  places 
and  jjensions  at  once,  the  supply  being  unequal  to  the 
demand — had  come  to  regard  politics  as  purely  a  game; 
a  kind  of  licensed  hazard  played  for  titles,  orders,  and 
emoluments,  by  certain  families  who  had  the  entree  to 
the  public  table  by  virtue  of  the  part  they  had  played  in 
settling  the  succession. 

Into  the  midst  of  this  state  of  things,  this  world  of 
despondency,  mediocrity,  selfishness,  and  chicanery,  and 
at  the  precise  crisis  when  the  disasters  which  attended 
the  opening  campaigns  of  the  Seven  Years'  War — and 
particularly  the  loss  of  Minorca — seemed  to  confirm 
the  gloomiest  prognostications  of  the  most  hopeless  j^es- 
simists,  came  William  Pitt  ;  and  in  eighteen  months 
changed  the  face  of  the  world,  not  for  his  generation 
only,  but  for  ours.  Indifferent  as  an  administrator, 
mediocre  as  a  financier,  passionate,  haughty,  headstrong, 
with  many  of  the  worst  faults  of  an  orator,  he  was  still  a 
man  with  ideals — a  patriot  among  placemen,  pure  where 
all  were  corrupt.  And  the  effect  of  his  touch  was  magi- 
cal. By  infusing  his  own  spirit,  his  own  patriotism,  his 
own  belief  in  his  country,  and  his  own  belief  in  himself, 
into  those  who  worked  with  him — ay,  and  into  the  better 
half  of  England — he  wrought  a  seeming  miracle. 

See,  for  instance,  what  j\rr.  Walpole  wrote  to  Sir  Hor- 
ace Mann  in  September,  1757.  Tor  how  many  years,' 
he  says,  '  have  I  been  telling  you  that  your  country  was 
mad,  that  your  country  was  undone  !  It  does  not  grow 
wiser,  it  does  not  grow  more  prosperous  !  .  .  .  How  do 
you  behave  on  these  lamentable  occasions?  Oh,  believe 
me,  it  is  comfortable  to  have  an  island  to  hide  one's  head 


76  THE  CASTLE  INN 

in  !  .  .  . '  Again  he  writes  in  the  same  month,  '  It  is 
time  for  England  to  slip  her  own  cables,  and  float  away 
into  some  unknown  ocean.' 

AYith  these  compare  a  letter  dated  November,  1759. 
'Indeed,'  he  says  to  the  same  correspondent,  'one  is 
forced  to  ask  every  morning  what  victory  there  is,  for 
fear  of  missing  one.'  And  he  wrote  with  reason.  India, 
Canada,  Belleisle,  the  Mississippi,  the  Philippines,  the 
Havanna,  Martinique,  Guadaloupe — there  was  no  end  to 
our  conquests.  Wolfe  fell  in  the  arms  of  victory,  Clive 
came  home  the  satrap  of  sovereigns ;  but  day  by  day  ships 
sailed  in  and  couriers  spurred  abroad  with  the  news  that 
a  new  world  and  a  nascent  empire  were  ours.  Until 
men's  heads  reeled  and  maps  failed  them,  as  they  asked 
each  morning  '  What  new  land  to-day  ? '  Until  those 
who  had  despaired  of  England  awoke  and  rubbed  their 
eyes — awoke  to  find  three  nations  at  her  feet,  and  the 
dawn  of  a  new  and  wider  day  breaking  in  the  sky. 

And  what  of  the  minister  ?  They  called  him  the  Great 
Commoner,  the  heaven-born  statesman;  they  showered 
gold  boxes  upon  him;  they  bore  him  through  the  city, 
the  centre  of  frantic  thousands,  to  the  effacemeut  even 
of  the  sovereign.  Where  he  went  all  heads  were  bared; 
while  he  walked  the  rooms  at  Bath  and  drank  the  water, 
all  stood;  his  very  sedan,  built  with  a  boot  to  accommo- 
date his  gouty  foot,  was  a  show  followed  and  watched 
wherever  it  moved.  A  man  he  had  never  seen  left  him  a 
house  and  three  thousand  j^ounds  a  year;  this  one,  that 
one,  the  other  one,  legacies.  In  a  word,  for  a  year  or 
two  he  was  the  idol  of  the  nation — the  first  great  People's 
Minister. 

Then,  the  crisis  over,  the  old  system  lifted  its  head 
again;  the  mediocrities  returned;  and,  thwarted  by  envi- 
ous rivals  and  a  jealous  king,  Pitt  placed  the  crown  alike 
on  his  services  and  his  popularity  by  resigning   power 


THE  OLD  BATH  ROAD  77 

when  he  could  no  longer  dictate  the  policy  which  he  knew 
to  be  right.  Nor  were  events  slow  to  prove  his  wisdom. 
The  war  with  Spain  which  he  would  have  declared,  Spain 
declared.  The  treasure  fleet  which  he  would  have  seized, 
escaped  us.  Finally,  the  peace  when  it  came  redounded 
to  his  credit,  for  in  the  main  it  secured  his  conquests — to 
the  disgrace  of  his  enemies,  since  more  might  have  been 
obtained. 

Such  was  the  man  who,  restored  to  office  and  lately 
created  an  earl  by  the  title  of  Chatham,  lay  ill  at  Bath 
in  the  spring  of  '67.  The  passage  of  time,  the  course  of 
events,  the  ravages  of  gout,  in  a  degree  the  acceptance 
of  a  title,  had  robbed  his  popularity  of  its  first  gloss.  But 
his  name  was  still  a  name  to  conjure  with  in  England. 
He  was  still  the  idol  of  the  City.  Crowds  still  ran  to  see 
him  where  he  passed.  His  gaunt  figure  racked  with  gout, 
his  eagle  nose,  his  piercing  eyes,  were  still  England's 
picture  of  a  minister.  His  curricle,  his  troop  of  servants, 
the  very  state  he  kept,  the  ceremony  with  which  he  trav- 
elled, all  pleased  the  popular  fancy.  When  it  was  known 
that  he  was  well  enough  to  leave  Bath,  and  would  lie  a 
night  at  the  Castle  Inn  at  Marlborough,  his  suite  requir- 
ing twenty  rooms,  even  that  great  hostelry,  then  reputed 
one  of  the  best,  as  it  was  certainly  the  most  splendid  in 
England,  and  capable,  it  was  said,  of  serving  a  dinner  of 
twenty-four  covers  on  silver,  was  in  an  uproar.  The  land- 
lord, who  knew  the  tastes  of  half  the  peerage,  and  which 
bin  Lord  Sandwich  preferred,  and  which  Mr.  Rigby,  in 
which  rooms  the  Duchess  or  Lady  Betty  liked  to  lie,  what 
Mr.  Walpole  took  with  his  supper,  and  which  shades  the 
Princess  Amelia  preferred  for  her  card-table — even  he, 
who  had  taken  his  glass  of  wine  with  a  score  of  dukes, 
from  Cumberland  the  Great  to  Bedford  the  Little,  was 
put  to  it;  the  notice  being  short,  and  the  house  some- 
what full. 


78  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Fortunately  the  Castle  Inn,  on  the  road  between  Lon- 
don and  the  west,  was  a  place  of  call,  not  of  residence. 
Formerly  a  favourite  residence  of  the  Seymour  family, 
and  built,  if  tradition  does  not  lie,  by  a  pupil  of  Inigo 
Jones,  it  stood — and  for  the  house,  still  stands — in  a  snug 
fold  of  the  downs,  at  the  end  of  the  long  High  Street  of 
^larlborough;  at  the  precise  point  where  the  route  to 
Sa^sbury  debouches  from  the  Old  Bath  Eoad.  A  long- 
fronted,  stately  mansion  of  brick,  bosomed  in  trees,  and 
jealous  of  its  historic  past — it  had  sheltered  William  of 
Orange — it  presented  to  the  north  and  the  road,  from 
which  it  was  distant  some  hundred  yards,  a  grand  pillared 
portico  flanked  by  projecting  wings.  At  that  portico, 
and  before  those  long  rows  of  shapely  Avindows,  forty 
coaches,  we  are  told,  changed  horses  every  day.  Beside 
the  western  wing  of  the  house  a  green  sugarloaf  mound, 
reputed  to  be  of  Druidical  origin,  rose  above  the  trees;  it 
was  accessible  by  a  steep  winding  path,  and  crowned  at 
the  date  of  this  stor}''  by  a  curious  summer-house.  Trav- 
ellers from  the  west  who  merely  passed  on  the  coach, 
caught,  if  they  looked  back  as  they  entered  the  town,  a 
glimpse  of  groves  and  lawns  laid  out  by  the  best  taste  of 
the  day,  between  the  southern  front  and  the  river.  To 
these  a  doorway  and  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  corresponding 
in  position  with  the  portico  in  the  middle  of  the  north 
front,  conducted  the  visitor,  who,  if  a  man  of  feeling, 
was  equally  surprised  and  charmed  to  find  in  these  shady 
retreats,  stretching  to  the  banks  of  the  Kennet,  a  silence 
and  beauty  excelled  in  few  noblemen's  gardens.  In  a 
word,  while  the  north  front  of  the  house  hummed  with 
the  revolving  wheels,  and  echoed  the  chatter  of  half  the 
fashionable  world  bound  for  the  Bath  or  the  great  western 
port  of  Bristol,  the  south  front  reflected  the  taste  of  that 
Lady  Hertford  who  had  made  these  glades  and  trim  walks 
her  principal  hobby. 


THE  OLD  BATH  ROAD  79 

With  all  its  charms,  however,  the  traveller,  as  we  have 
said,  stayed  there  but  a  night  or  so.  Those  in  the  house, 
therefore,  would  move  on,  and  so  room  could  be  made. 
And  so  room  was  made;  and  two  days  later,  a  little  after 
sunset,  amid  a  sjDasm  of  final  preparation,  and  with  a 
great  parade  of  arrival,  the  earl's  procession,  curricle, 
chariot,  coaches,  chaises,  and  footmen,  rolled  in  from 
the  west.  In  a  trice  lights  flashed  everywhere,  in  the 
road,  at  the  windows,  on  the  mound,  among  the  trees ; 
the  crowd  thickened — every  place  seemed  peopled  with 
the  Pitt  liveries.  Women,  vowing  that  they  were 
cramped  to  death,  called  languidly  for  chaise-doors  to  be 
opened  ;  and  men  who  had  already  descended,  and  were 
stretching  their  limbs  in  the  road,  ran  to  open  them. 
This  was  in  the  rear  of  the  procession  ;  in  front,  where 
the  throng  of  townsfolk  closed  most  thickly  round  the 
earl's  travelling  chariot,  was  a  sudden  baring  of  heads,  as 
the  door  of  the  coach  was  opened.  The  landlord,  bowing 
lower  than  he  had  ever  bowed  to  the  proud  Duke  of 
Somerset,  offered  his  shoulder.  And  then  men  waited 
and  bent  nearer;  and  nothing  happening,  looked  at  one 
another  in  surprise.  Still  no  one  issued;  instead,  some- 
thing which  the  nearest  could  not  catch  was  said,  and  a 
tall  lady,  closely  hooded,  stepped  stiffly  out  and  pointed 
to  the  house.  On  which  the  landlord  and  two  or  three 
servants  hurried  in;  and  all  was  expectation. 

The  men  were  out  again  in  a  moment,  bearing  a  great 
chair,  which  they  set  with  nicety  at  the  door  of  the  car- 
riage. This  done,  the  gapers  saw  what  they  had  come  to 
see.  For  an  instant,  the  face  that  all  England  knew  and 
all  Europe  feared — but  blanched,  strained,  and  drawn 
with  pain — showed  in  the  opening.  For  a  second  the 
crowd  was  gratified  with  a  glimpse  of  a  gaunt  form,  a 
star  and  ribbon;  then,  with  a  groan  heard  far  through 
the    awestruck    silence,    the    invalid    sank  heavily   into 


80  THE  CASTLE  INN 

the  chair,  and  was  borne  swiftly  and  silently  into  the 
house. 

Men  looked  at  one  another;  but  the  fact  was  better 
than  their  fears.  My  lord,  after  leaving  Bath,  had  had 
a  fresh  attack  of  the  gout ;  and  when  he  would  be  able  to 
proceed  on  his  journey  only  Dr.  Addington,  his  physician, 
whose  gold-headed  cane,  great  wig,  and  starched  aspect 
did  not  foster  curiosity,  could  pretend  to  say.  Perha^JS 
Mr.  Smith,  the  landlord,  was  as  much  concerned  as  any; 
when  he  learned  the  state  of  the  case,  he  fell  to  mental 
arithmetic  with  the  assistance  of  his  fingers,  and  at  times 
looked  blank.  Counting  up  the  earl  and  his  gentleman, 
and  his  gentleman's  gentleman,  and  his  secretary,  and 
his  private  secretary,  and  his  physician,  and  his  three 
friends  and  their  gentlemen,  and  my  lady  and  her  woman, 
and  the  children  and  nurses,  and  a  crowd  of  others,  he 
could  not  see  where  to-morrow's  travellers  were  to  lie, 
supposing  the  minister  remained.  However,  in  the  end, 
he  set  that  aside  as  a  question  for  to-morrow;  and  having 
seen  Mr.  Rigby's  favourite  bin  opened  (for  Dr.  Addington 
was  a  connoisseur),  and  reviewed  the  cooks  dishing  up 
the  belated  dinner — which  an  endless  chain  of  servants 
carried  to  the  different  apartments — he  followed  to  the 
principal  dining-room,  where  the  minister's  company  were 
assembled ;  and  between  the  intervals  of  carving  and  see- 
ing that  his  guests  ate  to  their  liking,  enjoyed  the  con- 
versation, and,  when  invited,  joined  in  it  with  tact  and 
self-respect.     As  became  a  host  of  the  old  school. 

By  this  time  lights  blazed  in  every  window  of  the  great 
mansion;  the  open  doors  emitted  a  fragrant  glow  of 
warmth  and  welcome;  the  rattle  of  plates  and  hum  of 
voices  could  be  heard  in  the  road  a  hundred  paces  away. 
But  outside  and  about  the  stables  the  hubbub  had  some- 
what subsided,  the  road  had  grown  quiet,  and  the  last 
townsfolk  had  withdrawn,  when  a  little  after  seven  the 


THE  OLD  BATH  ROAD  81 

lamps  of  a  carriage  appeared  in  the  High  Street,  approach- 
ing from  the  town.  It  swept  round  the  church,  turned 
the  flank  of  tlie  house,  and  in  a  twinkling  drew  up  before 
the  pillars. 

'  Hilloa  !  House  ! '  cried  the  postillion.  '  House  !  ' 
And,  cracking  his  whip  on  his  boot,  he  looked  up  at  the 
rows  of  lighted  windows. 

A  man  and  a  maid  who  travelled  outside  climbed  down. 
As  the  man  opened  the  carriage  door,  a  servant  bustled 
out  of  the  house.  '  Do  you  want  fresh  horses?  '  said  he, 
in  a  kind  of  aside  to  the  footman. 

'  No — rooms  !  '  the  man  answered  bluntly. 

Before  the  other  could  reply,  '  What  is  this  ?  '  cried  a 
shrewish  voice  from  the  interior  of  the  carriage.  '  Hoity 
toity  !  This  is  a  nice  way  of  receiving  company  !  You, 
fellow,  go  to  your  master  and  say  that  I  am  here.' 

'  Say  that  the  Lady  Dunborough  is  here,'  an  unctuous 
voice  repeated,  '  and  requires  rooms,  dinners,  fire,  and 
the  best  he  has.     And  do  you  be  quick,  fellow  ! ' 

The  speaker  was  Mr.  Thomasson,  or  rather  Mr.  Thoni- 
asson  plus  the  importance  which  comes  of  travelling  with 
a  viscountess.  This,  and  perhaps  the  cramped  state  of 
his  limbs,  made  him  a  little  long  in  descending.  '  AVill 
your  ladyship  wait  ?  or  will  you  allow  me  to  have  the 
honour  of  assisting  you  to  descend  ?  '  he  continued,  shiver- 
ing slightly  from  the  cold.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  not 
enjoying  his  honour  on  cheap  terms.  Save  the  last  hour, 
her  ladyship's  tongue  had  gone  without  ceasing,  and  Mr. 
Thomasson  was  sorely  in  need  of  refreshment. 

'  Descend  ?  No  ! '  was  the  tart  answer.  '  Let  the  man 
come  !  Sho  !  Times  are  changed  since  I  was  here  last. 
I  had  not  to  wait  then,  or  break  my  shins  in  the  dark  ! 
Has  the  impudent  fellow  gone  in  ?  ' 

He  had,  but  at  this  came  out  again,  bearing  lights  be- 
fore his  master.  The  host,  with  the  civility  which  marked 
6 


82  THE  CASTLE  INN 

landlords  in  those  days — the  halcyon  days  of  inns — hur- 
ried down  the  steps  to  the  carriage.  '  Dear  me  !  Dear 
me  !  I  am  most  unhappy  !  '  he  exclaimed.  '  Had  I 
known  your  ladyship  was  travelling,  some  arrangement 
should  have  been  made.  I  declare,  my  lady,  I  would  not 
have  had  this  happen  for  twenty  pounds  !     But ' 

'  But  what,  man  !  What  is  the  man  mouthing  about  ?  ' 
she  cried  impatiently. 

'  I  am  full,'  he  said,  extending  his  palms  to  express  his 
despair.  '  The  Earl  of  Chatham  and  his  lordship's  com- 
pany travelling  from  Bath  occupy  all  the  west  wing  and 
the  greater  part  of  the  house;  and  I  have  positively  no 
rooms  fit  for  your  ladyship's  use.  I  am  grieved,  deso- 
lated, to  have  to  say  this  to  a  person  in  your  ladyship's 
position,'  he  continued  glibly,  'and  an  esteemed  cus- 
tomer, but '  and  again  he  extended  his  hands. 

'  A  fig  for  your  desolation  ! '  her  ladyship  cried  rudely. 
'  It  don't  help  me.  Smith.' 

'  But  your  ladyship  sees  how  it  is. ' 

'  I  am  hanged  if  I  do  ! '  she  retorted,  and  used  an  ex- 
pression too  coarse  for  modern  print.  '  But  I  suppose 
that  there  is  another  house,  man.' 

'Certainly,  my  lady — several,'  the  landlord  answered, 
with  a  gesture  of  deprecation.  '  But  all  full.  And  the 
accommodation  not  of  a  kind  to  suit  your  ladyship's 
tastes. ' 

'  Then — what  are  we  to  do  ? '  she  asked  with  angry 
shrillness. 

'  We  have  fresh  horses,'  he  ventured  to  suggest.  '  The 
road  is  good,  and  in  four  hours,  or  four  and  a  half  at  the 
most,  your  ladyship  might  be  in  Bath,  where  there  is  an 
abundance  of  good  lodgings.' 

'  Bless  the  man  ! '  cried  the  angry  peeress.  '  Does  he 
think  I  have  a  skin  of  leather  to  stand  this  jolting  and 
shaking  ?   Four  hours  more  !    I'll  lie  in  my  carriage  first  ! ' 


THE  OLD  BATH  ROAD  83 

A  small  rain  was  beginning  to  fall,  and  the  night  prom- 
ised to  be  wet  as  well  as  cold.  Mr.  Thomasson,  who  had 
spent  the  last  hour,  while  his  companion  slept,  in  visions 
of  the  sumptuous  dinner,  neat  wines,  and  good  beds  that 
awaited  him  at  the  Castle  Inn,  cast  a  despairing  glance 
at  the  doorway,  whence  issued  a  fragrance  that  made  his 
mouth  water.  '  Oh,  positively,'  he  cried,  addressing  the 
landlord,  '  something  must  be  done,  my  good  man.  For 
myself,  I  can  sleep  in  a  chair  if  her  ladyship  can  anyway 
be  accommodated.' 

'Well,'  said  the  landlord  dubiously,  'if  her  ladyship 
could  allow  her  woman  to  lie  with  her  ? ' 

'  Bless  the  man  !  Why  did  you  not  say  that  at  once  ?  ' 
cried  my  lady.  '  Oh,  she  may  come  ! '  This  last  in  a 
voice  that  promised  little  comfort  for  the  maid. 

'  And  if  the  reverend  gentleman — would  put  up  with  a 
couch  below  stairs  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  yes, '  said  Mr.  Thomasson ;  but  faintly,  now  it 
came  to  the  point. 

'  Then  I  think  I  can  manage — if  your  ladyship  will  not 
object  to  sup  with  some  guests  who  have  just  arrived,  and 
are  now  sitting  down?  Friends  of  Sir  George  Soane,' 
the  landlord  hastened  to  add,  '  whom  your  ladyship  prob- 
ably knows.' 

'  Drat  the  man  ! — too  well  ! '  Lady  Dunborough  an- 
swered, making  a  wry  face.  For  by  this  time  she  had 
heard  all  about  the  duel.  '  He  has  nearly  cost  me 
dear  !  But,  there — if  we  must,  we  must.  Let  me  get 
my  tooth  in  the  dinner,  and  I  won't  stand  on  my  com- 
pany.' And  she  proceeded  to  descend,  and,  the  landlord 
going  before  her,  entered  the  house. 

In  those  days  people  were  not  so  punctilious  in  certain 
directions  as  they  now  are.  My  lady  put  off  her  French 
hood  and  travelling  cloak  in  the  lobby  of  the  east  wing, 
gave  her  piled-up  hair  a  twitch  this  way  and  that,  un- 


84  THE  CASTLE  INN 

fastened  her  fan  from  her  Avaist,  and  sailed  in  to  sup- 
per, her  maid  carrying  her  gloves  and  scent-bottle  behind 
her.  The  tutor,  who  wore  no  gloves,  was  a  little  longer. 
But  having  washed  his  hands  at  a  pump  in  the  scullery, 
and  dried  them  on  a  roller-towel — with  no  sense  that  the 
apparatus  was  deficient — he  tucked  his  hat  under  his  arm 
and,  handling  his  snuff-box,  tripped  after  her  as  hastily 
as  vanity  and  an  elegant  demeanour  permitted. 

He  found  her  in  the  act  of  joining,  witli  an  air  of  vast 
condescension,  a  party  of  three;  two  of  whom  her  stately 
salute  had  already  frozen  in  their  places.  These  two,  a 
slight  perky  man  of  middle  age,  and  a  frightened  rustic- 
looking  woman  in  homely  black — who,  by  the  way,  sat 
with  her  mouth  open  and  her  knife  and  fork  resting 
points  upward  on  the  table — could  do  nothing  but  stare. 
The  third,  a  handsome  girl,  very  simply  dressed,  returned 
her  ladyship's  gaze  with  mingled  interest  and  timidity. 

My  lady  noticed  this,  and  the  girl's  elegant  air  and 
shape,  and  set  down  the  other  two  for  her  duenna  and 
her  guardian's  man  of  business.  Aware  that  Sir  George 
Soane  had  no  sister,  she  scented  scandal,  and  lost  not  a 
moment  in  opening  the  trenches. 

'  And  how  far  have  you  come  to-day,  child  ? '  she 
asked  with  condescension,  as  soon  as  she  had  taken  her 
seat. 

'  From  Reading,  madam,'  the  girl  answered  in  a  voice 
low  and  restrained.  Her  manner  was  somewhat  awkward, 
and  she  had  a  shy  air,  as  if  her  surroundings  were  new  to 
her.  But  Lady  Dunborough  was  more  and  more  im- 
pressed with  her  beauty,  and  a  natural  air  of  refinement 
that  was  not  to  be  mistaken. 

'The  roads  are  insufferably  crowded,'  said  the  peeress. 
'  They  are  intolerable  ! ' 

'  I  am  afraid  you  suffered  some  inconvenience,'  the  girl 
answered  timidly. 


THE  OLD  BATH  ROAD  85 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Thomasson  entered.  He  treated 
the  strangers  to  a  distant  bow,  and,  without  looking  at 
them,  took  his  seat  with  a  nonchalant  ease,  becoming  a 
man  who  travelled  with  viscountesses,  and  was  at  home 
in  the  best  company.  The  table  had  his  first  hungry 
glance.  He  espied  roast  and  cold,  a  pair  of  smoking 
ducklings  just  set  on,  a  dish  of  trout,  a  round  of  beef,  a 
pigeon-pie,  and  hot  rolls.  Eelieved,  he  heaved  a  sigh  of 
satisfaction. 

'  'Pon  honour  this  is  not  so  bad  ! '  he  said.  '  It  is  not 
what  your  ladyship  is  accustomed  to,  but  at  a  pinch  it 
will  do.     It  will  do  ! ' 

He  was  not  unwilling  that  the  strangers  should  know 
his  companion's  rank,  and  he  stole  a  glance  at  them,  as 
he  spoke,  to  see  what  impression  it  made.  Alas!  the 
deeper  impression  was  made  on  himself.  For  a  moment 
he  stared;  the  next  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  oath 
plain  and  strong. 

'  Drat  the  man  ! '  cried  my  lady  in  wrath.  He  had 
come  near  to  oversetting  her  plate.  '  What  flea  has  bit- 
ten you  now  ? ' 

'  Do  you  know — who  these  people  are  ?  '  Mr.  Thomasson 
stammered,  trembling  with  rage;  and,  resting  both 
hands  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  he  glared  now  at  them 
and  now  at  Lady  Dunborough.  He  could  be  truculent 
where  he  had  nothing  to  fear;  and  he  was  truculent 
now. 

'  These  people?  '  my  lady  drawled  in  surprise;  and  she 
inspected  them  through  her  quizzing-glass  as  coolly  as  if 
they  were  specimens  of  a  rare  order  submitted  to  her 
notice.  '  Not  in  the  least,  my  good  man.  Who  are 
they  ?     Should  I  know  them  ?  ' 

'  They  are ' 

But  the  little  man,  whose  seat  happened  to  be  oppo- 
site the  tutor's,  had  risen  to  his  feet  by  this  time;  and 


86  THE  CASTLE  INN 

at  that  word  cut  him  short.  '  Sir  ! '  he  cried  in  a  flutter 
of  agitation.  '  Have  a  care  !  Have  a  care  what  you 
say  !  I  am  a  lawyer,  and  I  warn  you  that  anything 
defamatory  will — will  be ' 

'  Pooh  ! '  said  Mr.  Thomasson.  '  Don't  try  to  brow- 
beat me,  sir.  These  persons  are  im^iostors,  Lady  Dun- 
borough  !  Impostors  ! '  he  continued.  '  In  this  house, 
at  any  rate.     They  have  no  right  to  be  here  ! ' 

'  You  shall  pay  for  this  ! '  shrieked  Mr.  Fishwick.  For 
he  it  was. 

'I  will  ring  the  bell,'  the  tutor  continued  in  a  high 
tone,  '  and  have  them  removed.  They  have  no  more  to 
do  Avith  Sir  George  Soane,  whose  name  they  appear  to 
have  taken,  than  your  ladyship  has.' 

'Have  a  care!  Have  a  care,  sir,'  cried  the  lawyer, 
trembling. 

'  Or  than  I  have  ! '  persisted  Mr.  Thomasson  hardily, 
and  with  his  head  in  the  air;  '  and  no  right  or  title  to  be 
anywhere  but  in  the  servants'  room.  That  is  their  proper 
place.  Lady  Dunborough,'  he  continued,  his  eyes  dart- 
ing severity  at  the  three  culprits,  '  are  you  aware  that 
this  young  person  whom  you  have  been  so  kind  as  to 
notice  is — is ' 

'  Oh,  Gadzooks,  man,  come  to  the  point  ! '  cried  her 
ladyshii3,  with  one  eye  on  the  victuals. 

'No,  I  Avill  not  shame  her  publicly,'  said  Mr.  Thomas- 
son, swelling  with  virtuous  self-restraint.  '  But  if  your 
ladyship  would  honour  me  with  two  words  apart  ?  ' 

Lady  Dunborough  rose,  muttering  impatiently;  and 
Mr.  Thomasson,  with  the  air  of  a  just  man  in  a  parable, 
led  her  a  little  aside;  but  so  that  the  three  who  remained 
at  the  table  might  still  feel  that  his  eye  and  his  reprehen- 
sion rested  on  them.  He  spoke  a  few  words  to  her  lady- 
ship; whereon  she  uttered  a  faint  cry,  and  stiffened.  A 
moment   and  she  turned  and  came  back  to  the  table,  her 


THE  OLD   BATH  ROAD  87 

face  crimson,  her  lieaclclress  nodding.     She  looked  at  the 
girl,  who  had  just  risen  to  her  feet. 

'  You  baggage  ! '  she  hissed,  '  begone  !  Out  of  this 
house  !  How  dare  you  sit  in  my  presence  ?  '  And  she 
pointed  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER   IX 

ST.    GEORGE    AND    THE    DRAGON 

The  scene  presented  by  the  room  at  this  moment  was 
sufficiently  singuhir.  The  waiters,  drawn  to  the  spot  by 
the  fury  of  my  lady's  tone,  peered  in  at  the  half-opened 
door,  and  asking  one  another  what  the  fracas  was  about, 
thought  so;  and  softly  called  to  others  to  Avitness  it.  On 
one  side  of  the  table  rose  Lady  Dunborough,  grim  and 
yenomous;  on  the  other  the  girl  stood  virtually  alone — 
for  the  elder  woman  had  falleu  to  weeping  helplessly,  and 
the  attorney  seemed  to  be  unequal  to  this  new  combatant. 
Even  so,  and  though  her  face  betrayed  trouble  and  some 
irresolution,  she  did  not  blench,  but  faced  her  accuser 
with  a  slowly  risiug  passion  that  overcame  her  shyness. 

'  Madam,'  she  said,  '  I  did  not  clearly  catch  your  name. 
Am  I  right  in  supposing  that  you  are  Lady  Dunbor- 
ough ? ' 

The  peeress  swallowed  her  rage  with  difficulty.  '  Go  ! ' 
she  cried,  and  pointed  afresh  to  the  door.  '  How  dare 
you  bandy  words  with  me  ?     Do  you  hear  me  ?     Go  ! ' 

'I  am  not  going  at  your  bidding,'  the  girl  answered 
slowly.  '  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  like  that  ? '  And 
then,  '  You  have  no  right  to  speak  to  me  in  that  way  ! ' 
she  continued,  in  a  flush  of  indignation. 

'  You  impudent  creature  ! '  Lady  Dunborough  cried. 
'  You  shameless,  abaudoned  baggage  !  Who  brought  you 
in  out  of  the  streets  ?  You,  a  kitchen-wench,  to  be  sit- 
ting at  this  table  smiling  at  your  betters  !     I'll —     Ring 


ST.    GEORGE  AND   THE  DRAGON  89 

tlie  bell  !  Ring  the  bell,  fool  ! '  she  continued  impetu- 
ously, and  scathed  Mr.  Thomasson  with  a  look.  '  Fetch 
the  landlord,  and  let  me  see  this  impudent  hussy  thrown 
out  !  Ay,  madam,  I  suppose  you  are  here  waiting 
for  my  son  ;  but  you  have  caught  me  instead,  and 
I'll  be  bound.     I'll ' 

'  You'll  disgrace  yourself,'  the  girl  retorted  with  quiet 
pride.  But  she  was  very  white.  '  I  know  nothing  of 
your  son.' 

'A  fig  for  the  lie,  mistress  ! '  cried  the  old  harridan; 
and  added,  as  was  too  much  the  fashion  in  those  days,  a 
Avord  we  cannot  print.  The  Duchess  of  Northumberland 
had  the  greater  name  for  coarseness;  but  Lady  Dunbor- 
ough's  tongue  was  known  in  town.  '  Ay,  that  smartens 
you,  does  it?'  she  continued  with  cruel  delight;  for  the 
girl  had  winced  as  from  a  blow.  '  But  here  comes  the 
landlord,  and  now  out  you  go.  Ay,  into  the  streets, 
mistress  !  Hoity-toity,  that  dirt  like  you  should  sit  at 
tables  !     Go  wash  the  dishes,  slut  ! ' 

There  was  not  a  waiter  who  saw  the  younger  woman's 
shame  who  did  not  long  to  choke  the  viscountess.  As 
for  the  attorney,  though  he  had  vague  fears  of  privilege 
before  his  eyes,  and  was  clogged  by  the  sex  of  the  assailant, 
he  could  remain  silent  no  longer. 

'My  lady,'  he  cried,  in  a  tone  of  trembling  despera- 
tion, '  you  will — you  will  repent  thiS" !  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  doing.     I  tell  you,  that  to-morrow ' 

'  What  is  this  ?  '  said  a  quiet  voice.  It  was  the  land- 
lord's; he  spoke  as  he  pushed  his  way  through  the  group 
at  the  door.  '  Has  your  ladyship  some  complaint  to 
make?  '  he  continued  civilly,  his  eye  taking  in  the  scene 
— even  to  the  elder  woman,  who  through  her  tears  kept 
muttering,  '  Deary,  we  ought  not  to  have  come  here  !  I 
told  him  we  ought  not  to  come  here  ! '  And  then,  before 
her  ladyship  could  reply,  '  Is  this  the  party — that  have 


90  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Sir  George  Soane's  rooms  ?  '  he  continued,  turning  to  the 
nearest  servant. 

Lady  Dunborough  answered  for  the  man.  '  Ay  ! '  she 
said,  jDitiless  in  her  triumph.  'They  are  !  Aud  know 
no  more  of  Soane  than  the  hair  of  my  head  !  They  are  a 
party  of  fly-by-nights;  and  for  this  fine  madam,  she  is 
a  kitchen  dish-washer  at  Oxford  !  And  the  commonest, 
lowest  slut  that ' 

'Your  ladyship  has  said  enough,'  the  landlord  inter- 
posed, moved  by  joity  or  the  girl's  beauty.  '  I  know 
already  that  there  has  been  some  mistake  here,  and  that 
these  persons  have  no  right  to  the  rooms  they  occupy. 
Sir  George  Soane  has  alighted  within  the  last  few  min- 
utes  ' 

'  And  knows  nothing  of  them  ! '  my  lady  cried,  clap- 
ping her  hands  in  triumph. 

'  That  is  so,'  the  landlord  answered  ominously.  Then, 
turning  to  the  bewildered  attorney,  'For  you,  sir,'  he 
continued,  '  if  you  have  anything  to  say,  be  good  enough 
to  S2:»eak.  On  the  face  of  it,  this  is  a  dirty  trick  you  have 
played  me.' 

'  Trick  ?  '  cried  the  attorney. 

'Ay,  trick,  man.  But  before  I  send  for  the  con- 
stable  ' 

'  The  constable  ?  '  shrieked  Mr.  Fishwick.  Truth  to 
tell,  it  had  been  his  own  idea  to  storm  the  splendours 
of  the  Castle  Inn;  and  for  certain  reasons  he  had  carried 
it  in  the  teeth  of  his  companions'  remonstrances.  Now 
between  the  suddenness  of  the  onslaught  made  on  them, 
the  strangeness  of  the  surroundings,  Sir  George's  inop- 
portune arrival,  and  the  scornful  grins  of  the  servants 
who  thronged  the  doorway,  he  was  cowed.  For  a  mo- 
ment his  Avonted  sharpness  deserted  him;  he  faltered  and 
changed  colour.  '  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,'  he  said. 
'I  gave — I  gave  the  name  of  Soane;  and  you — you  as- 


ST.    GEORGE  AND   THE  DRAGON  91 

signed  me  the  rooms.  I  thought  it  particularly  civil,  sir, 
and  was  even  troubled  about  the  expense ' 

'  Is  your  name  Soane  ? '  Mr.  Smith  asked  with  blunt- 
ness;  he  grew  more  suspicious  as  the  other's  embarrass- 
ment increased. 

'No,'  Mr.  Fish  wick  admitted  reluctantly.  'But  this 
young  lady's  name ' 

'  Is  Soane  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  stepped  forward,  grim  as  fate.  '  That 
is  not  true,'  he  said  coldly.  '  I  am  a  Fellow  of  Pembroke 
College,  Oxford,  at  present  in  attendance  on  her  ladyship; 
and  I  identify  this  person  ' — he  pointed  to  the  girl — '  as 
the  daughter  of  a  late  servant  of  the  College,  and  this 
woman  as  her  mother.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  last 
thing  they  expected  to  find  in  this  place  was  one  who 
knew  them.' 

The  landlord  nodded.  'Joe,'  he  said,  turning  to  a 
servant,  '  fetch  the  constable.  You  will  find  him  at  the 
Falcon.' 

'  That  is  talking  ! '  cried  my  lady,  clajiping  her  hands 
gleefully.  '  That  is  talking  ! '  And  then  addressing  the 
girl,  '  Now,  madam,'  she  said,  '  I'll  have  your  pride  pulled 
down  !  If  I  don't  have  you  in  the  stocks  for  this,  tease 
my  back  ! ' 

There  was  a  snigger  at  that,  in  the  background,  by  the 
door;  and  a  crush  to  get  in  and  see  how  the  rogues  took 
their  exposure;  for  my  lady's  shrill  voice  could  be  heard 
in  the  hall,  and  half  the  inn  was  running  to  listen.  Mrs. 
Masterson,  who  had  collapsed  at  the  mention  of  the  con- 
stable, and  could  now  do  nothing  but  moan  and  weep, 
and  the  attorney,  who  spluttered  vain  threats  in  a  voice 
quavering  between  fear  and  passion,  evoked  little  sym- 
pathy. But  the  girl,  who  through  all  remained  silent, 
white,  and  defiant,  who  faced  all,  the  fingers  of  one  hand 


93  THE  CASTLE  INN 

drumming  on  the  table  before  lier,  and  her  fine  eyes 
brooding  scornfnlly  on  the  crowd,  drew  from  more  than 
one  the  compliment  of  a  quicker  breath  and  a  choking 
throat.  She  was  the  handsomest  piece  they  had  seen, 
they  muttered,  for  many  a  day — as  alien  from  the  other 
two  as  light  from  darkness;  and  it  is  not  in  man's  nature 
to  see  beauty  humiliated,  and  feel  no  unpleasant  emotion. 
If  there  was  to  be  a  scene,  and  she  did  not  go  quietly — in 
that  case  more  than  one  in  the  front  rank,  who  read  the 
pride  in  her  eyes,  wished  he  were  elsewdiere. 

Suddenly  the  crowd  about  the  door  heaved.  It  opened 
slowly,  and  a  voice,  airy  and  indifferent,  was  heard  re- 
marking, '  Ah  !  These  are  the  people,  are  they  ?  Poor 
devils  ! '  Then  a  pause;  and  then,  in  a  tone  of  unmis- 
takable surprise,  '  Hallo  ! '  the  newcomer  cried  as  he 
emerged  and  stared  at  the  scene  before  him.  '  "What  is 
this  ? ' 

The  attorney  almost  fell  on  his  knees.  *'  Sir  George  ! ' 
he  screamed.  '  My  dear  Sir  George  !  Honoured  sir, 
believe  me  I  am  innocent  of  any  ill-meaning.' 

'  Tut-tut  ! '  said  Sir  George,  who  might  have  just 
stepped  out  of  his  dressing-closet  instead  of  his  carriage, 
so  perfect  was  his  array,  from  the  ruffles  that  fell  grace- 
fully over  his  wrists  to  the  cravat  that  supported  his 
chin.  '  Tut-tut  !  Lord,  man,  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this  ? ' 

'  We  are  going  to  see,'  the  landlord  answered  drily, 
forestalling  the  lawyer's  reply.  '  I  have  sent  for  the  con- 
stable, Sir  George.' 

'But,  Sir  George,  you'll  speak  for  us?'  Mr.  Fishwick 
cried  piteously,  cutting  the  other  short  in  his  turn.  '  You 
will  speak  for  us  ?  You  know  me.  You  know  that  I  am 
a  respectable  man.  Oh,  dear  me,  if  this  were  told  in 
Wallingford  ! '  he  continued;  'and  I  have  a  mother  aged 
seventy  !     It  is  a  mistake — a  pure  mistake,  as  I  am  pre- 


ST.    GEORGE  AND   THE  DRAGON  93 

pared  to  prove.  I  appeal  to  yon,  sir.  Both  I  and  my 
friends ' 

He  was  stopped  on  that  word;  and  very  strangely. 
The  girl  turned  on  him,  her  cheeks  scarlet.  '  For 
shame  ! '  she  cried  with  indignation  that  seemed  to  her 
hearers  inexplicable.     '  Be  silent,  will  you  ?  ' 

Sir  George  stared  with  the  others.  '  Oh  ! '  said  Lady 
Dunborough,  '  so  you  have  found  your  voice,  have  you, 
miss — now  that  there  is  a  gentleman  here  ?  ' 

'  But — what  is  it  all  about  ?  '  Sir  George  asked. 

'They  took  your  rooms,  sir,'  the  landlord  explained 
respectfully. 

'  Pooh  !  is  that  all  ?  '  Soane  answered  contemptuously. 
What  moved  him  he  could  not  tell;  but  in  his  mind  he 
had  chosen  his  side.     He  did  not  like  Lady  Dunborough. 

'But  they  are  not,'  the  landlord  objected,  'they  are 
not  the  persons  they  say  they  are.  Sir  George.' 

'  Chut  ! '  said  Soane  carelessly.  '  I  know  this  person, 
at  any  rate.  He  is  respectable  enough.  I  don't  under- 
stand it  at  all.     Oh,  is  that  you,  Thomasson  ?  ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  had  fallen  back  a  pace  on  Sir  George's 
entrance;  but  being  recognised  he  came  forward.  'I 
think  that  you  will  acknowledge,  my  dear  sir,'  he  said 
persuasively — and  his  tone  was  very  different  from  that 
which  he  had  taken  ten  minutes  earlier — '  that  at  any 
rate — they  are  not  proper  persons  to  sit  down  Avith  her 
ladyship.' 

'  lint  why  should  they  sit  down  with  her?'  said  Sir 
George  the  fashionable,  slightly  raising  his  eyebrows. 

'  Hem — Sir  George,  this  is  Lady  Dunborough,'  replied 
Mr.  Thomasson,  not  a  little  embarrassed. 

Soane's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  returned  the  viscountess's 
glance.  But  he  bowed  profoundly,  and  with  a  sweep  of 
his  hat  that  made  the  rustics  stare.  '  Your  ladyship's 
most  humble  servant,'  he  said.     '  Allow  me  to  hope  that 


94  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Mr.  Dunborongh  is  perfectly  recovered.  Believe  me,  I 
greatly  regretted  his  miscliauce. ' 

But  Lady  Dunborough  was  not  so  foolish  as  to  receive 
his  overtures  according  to  the  letter.  She  saw  plainly 
that  he  had  chosen  his  side — the  impertinent  fop,  with 
his  airs  and  graces  ! — and  she  was  not  to  be  propitiated. 
'  Pray  leave  my  son's  name  apart,'  she  answered,  tossing 
her  head  contemptuously.  '  After  what  has  happened, 
sir,  I  prefer  not  to  discuss  him  with  you.' 

Sir  George  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  bowed  as  j^ro- 
foundly  as  before.  '  That  is  entirely  as  your  ladyship 
pleases,'  he  said.  Nevertheless  he  was  not  accustomed 
to  be  snubbed,  and  he  set  a  trifle  to  her  accouut. 

'  But  for  that  creature,'  she  continued,  trembling  with 
passion,  '  I  will  not  sleep  under  the  same  roof  with  her.' 

Sir  George  simpered.  'I  am  sorry  for  that,'  he  said. 
'  For  I  am  afraid  that  the  Falcon  in  the  town  is  not  the 
stamp  of  house  to  suit  your  ladyship.' 

The  viscountess  gasped.  'I  should  like  to  know  why 
you  champion  her,'  she  cried  violently.  'I  suppose  you 
came  here  to  meet  her. ' 

'  Alas,  madam,  I  am  not  so  happy,'  he  answered — with 
such  blandness  that  a  servant  by  the  door  choked,  and 
had  to  be  hustled  out  in  disgrace.  '  But  since  Miss — er — 
Masterson  is  here,  I  shall  be  glad  to  place  my  rooms  at 
her — mother's  disposal.' 

'  There  are  no  rooms,'  said  the  landlord.  Between  the 
two  he  was  growing  bewildered. 

'  There  are  mine,'  said  Sir  George  drily. 

'  But  for  yourself.  Sir  George  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  never  mind  me,  my  good  man.  I  am  here  to 
meet  Lord  Chatham,  and  some  of  his  peojole  will  accom- 
modate me.' 

'Well,  of  course,'  Mr.  Smith  answered,  rubbing  his 
hands  dubiously — for  he  had  sent  for  the  constable — '  of 


ST.    GEORGE  AND   THE  DRAGON  95 

course,  Sir  George — if  you  wish  it.  I  did  not  understand 
for  whom  tlie  rooms  were  ordered,  or — or  this  unpleasant- 
ness would  not  have  arisen.' 

'To  be  sure,'  Sir  George  drawled  good-naturedly. 
'  Give  the  constable  half-a-crown,  Smith,  and  charge  it 
to  me.'     And  he  turned  on  his  heel. 

But  at  this  appearance  of  a  happy  issue,  Lady  Dunbor- 
ough's  rage  and  chagrin,  which  had  been  rising  higher 
and  higher  with  each  word  of  the  dialogue,  could  no 
longer  be  restrained.  In  an  awful  voice,  and  with  a  port 
of  such  majesty  that  an  ordinary  man  must  have  shaken 
in  his  shoes  before  her  towering  headdress,  '  Am  I  to 
understand,'  she  cried,  '  that,  after  all  that  has  been  said 
about  these  persons,  you  propose  to  harbour  them  ?  ' 

The  landlord  looked  particularly  miserable;  luckily  he 
was  saved  from  the  necessity  of  replying  by  an  unexjiected 
intervention. 

'We  are  much  obliged  to  your  ladyshiji,' the  girl  be- 
hind the  table  said,  speaking  rapidly,  but  in  a  voice  rather 
sarcastic  than  vehement.  '  There  were  reasons  Avhy  I 
thought  it  impossible  that  we  should  accejot  this  gentle- 
man's offer.  But  the  Avords  you  have  applied  to  me,  and 
the  spirit  in  which  your  ladyship  has  dealt  with  me,  make 
it  impossible  for  us  to  withdraw  and  lie  under  the — the 
vile  imputations,  you  have  chosen  to  cast  upon  me.  For 
that  reason,'  she  continued  with  spirit,  her  face  instinct 
with  indignation,  '  I  do  accept  from  this  gentleman — and 
with  gratitude — what  I  would  fain  refuse.  And  if  it  be 
any  matter  to  your  ladyship,  you  have  only  your  unman- 
nerly words  to  thank  for  it. ' 

'  IIo  !  ho  ! '  the  viscountess  cried  in  affected  contempt. 
'  Are  we  to  be  called  in  question  by  creatures  like  these  ? 
You  vixen  !     I  spit  upon  you  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  smiled  in  a  sickly  fashion.  For  one 
thing,  he  began  to  feel  hungry;  he  had  not  supped.     For 


96  THE  CASTLE  INN 

another,  he  wished  that  he  had  kept  his  mouth  shut,  or 
had  never  left  Oxford.  "Witli  a  downcast  air,  '  I  think  it 
might  be  better,'  he  said,  '  if  your  ladyship  were  to  Avith- 
draw  from  tliis  company.' 

But  her  ladyship  was  at  that  moment  as  dangerous  as  a 
tigress.  '  You  think?  '  she  cried.  "You  think?  I  think 
you  are  a  fool  ! ' 

A  snigger  from  the  doorway  gave  point  to  the  words; 
on  which  Lady  Dunborough  turned  wrathfully  in  that 
direction.  But  the  prudent  landlord  had  slipped  away. 
Sir  George  also  had  retired,  and  the  servants  and  others, 
concluding  the  sport  was  at  an  end,  were  fast  dispersing. 
She  saw  that  redress  was  not  to  be  had,  but  that  in  a 
moment  she  would  be  left  alone  with  her  foes;  and  though 
she  was  bursting  with  spite,  the  prospect  had  no  charms 
for  her.  For  the  time  she  had  failed;  nothing  she  could 
say  would  now  alter  that.  Moreover  her  ladyship  was 
vaguely  conscious  that  in  the  girl,  who  still  stood  piti- 
lessly behind  the  table,  as  expecting  her  to  withdraw, 
she  had  met  her  match.  The  beautiful  face  and  proud 
eyes  that  regarded  her  so  steadfastly  had  a  certain  terror 
for  the  battered  great  lady,  who  had  all  to  lose  in  a  con- 
flict, and  saw  dimly  that  coarse  words  had  no  power  to 
hurt  her  adversary. 

So  Lady  Dunborough,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
determined  to  yield  the  field.  Gathering  her  skirts 
about  her  Avith  a  last  gesture  of  contempt,  she  sailed 
towards  the  door,  resolved  not  to  demean  herself  by  a 
single  word  But  halfway  across  the  room  her  resolution, 
which  had  nearly  cost  her  a  fit,  gave  way.  She  turned, 
and  withering  the  three  travellers  with  a  glance,  '  You — 
you  abandoned  creature  ! '  she  cried.  '  I'll  see  you  in  the 
stocks  yet  ! '     And  she  swept  from  the  room. 

Alas  !  the  girl  laughed :  and  my  lady  heard  her  ! 

Perhaps  it  was  that;  perhaps  it  w'as  the  fact  that  she 


ST.    GEORGE  AXD   THE  DRAGON  97 

had  not  dined,  and  was  leaving  her  supper  behind  her; 
perhaps  it  was  only  a  general  exasperation  rendered  her 
ladyship  deaf.  From  one  cause  or  another  she  lost  some- 
thing which  her  woman  said  to  her — with  no  small  ap- 
pearance of  excitement — as  they  crossed  the  hall.  The 
maid  said  it  again,  but  with  no  better  success;  and  press- 
ing nearer  to  say  it  a  third  time,  when  they  were  halfway 
up  the  stairs,  she  had  the  misfortune  to  step  on  her  mis- 
tress's train.  The  viscountess  turned  in  a  fury,  and 
slapped  her  cheek. 

'  You  clumsy  slut  ! '  she  cried.  '  Will  that  teach  you 
to  be  more  careful  ?  ' 

The  woman  shrank  away,  one  side  of  her  face  deej)  red, 
her  eyes  glittering.  Doubtless  the  joain  was  sharp;  and 
though  the  thing  had  happened  before,  it  had  never  hap- 
pened in  public.  But  she  suppressed  her  feelings,  and 
answered  whimpering,  '  If  your  ladyship  pleases,  I  wished 
to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Dunborough  is  here.' 

'  Mr.  Dunborough  ?  Here  ?  '  the  viscountess  stam- 
mered. 

*  Yes,  my  lady.  I  saw  him  alighting  as  we  joassed  the 
door.' 


CHAPTER  X 

MOTHER    AND    SON 

Lady  Dunborough  stood,  as  if  turned  to  stone  by  the 
news.  In  the  great  hall  below,  a  throng  of  servants,  the 
Pitt  livery  prominent  among  them,  were  hurrying  to  and 
fro,  with  a  clatter  of  dishes  and  plates,  a  ceaseless  calling 
of  orders,  a  buzz  of  talk,  and  now  and  then  a  wrangle. 
But  the  lobby  and  staircase  of  the  west  wing,  on  the  first 
floor  of  which  she  stood — and  where  the  great  man  lay, 
at  the  end  of  a  softly  lighted  passage,  his  door  guarded 
by  a  man  and  a  woman  seated  motionless  in  chairs  beside 
it — were  silent  by  comparison;  the  bnlk  of  the  guests 
were  still  at  supper  or  busy  in  the  east  or  inferior  wing; 
and  my  lady  had  a  moment  to  think,  to  trace  the  conse- 
qnences  of  this  inopportune  arrival,  and  to  curse,  now 
more  bitterly  than  before,  the  failure  of  her  attempt  to 
eject  the  girl  from  the  house. 

However,  she  was  not  a  woman  to  lie  down  to  her 
antagonists,  and  in  the  depth  of  lier  stu2:)or  she  had  a 
thought.  Her  brow  relaxed;  she  clutched  the  maid's 
arm.  '  Quick,'  she  whispered,  'go  and  fetch  Mr.  Thom- 
asson — he  is  somewhere  below.  Bring  him  here,  but  do 
not  let  Mr.  Dunborongh  see  you  as  yon  pass  !  Quick, 
woman — run  ! ' 

The  maid  flew  on  her  errand,  leaving  her  mistress  to 
listen  and  fret  on  the  stairs,  in  a  state  of  suspense  almost 
unbearable.  She  caught  her  son's  voice  in  the  entrance 
hall,  from  which  stately  arched  doorways  led  to  the  side 


310  THE R  AND  SON  99 

lobbies;  but  ha^jpily  be  was  still  at  tbe  door,  engaged  in 
railing  at  a  servant;  and  so  far  all  was  well.  At  any 
moment,  bowever,  be  migbt  stride  into  tbe  middle  of  tbe 
busy  group  in  tbe  ball;  and  tben  if  be  saw  Tbomasson 
before  tbe  tutor  bad  bad  -bis  lesson,  tbe  trick,  if  not  tbe 
game,  Avas  lost.  Her  ladysbip,  scarcely  breatbing,  bung 
over  tbe  balustrade,  and  at  length  bad  tbe  satisfaction  of 
seeing  Tbomasson  and  tbe  woman  enter  tbe  lobby  at  tbe 
foot  of  tbe  stairs.  In  a  trice  tbe  tutor,  looking  scared, 
and  a  trifle  sulky — for  be  bad  been  taken  from  bis  meat — 
stood  at  ber  side. 

Lady  Dunborougb  drew  a  breatb  of  relief,  and  by  a 
sign  bade  tbe  maid  begone.  '  You  know  wbo  is  below  ?  ' 
sbe  wbisjDered. 

Mr.  Tbomasson  nodded.  '  I  tbougbt  it  was  wbat 
you  wisbed,'  be  said,  witb  sometbing  in  bis  tone  as 
near  mutiny  as  be  dared  venture.  '  I  understood  tbat 
your  ladysbip  desired  to  overtake  bim  and  reason  witb 
bim.' 

'  But  witb  tbe  girl  bere?  '  sbe  muttered.  And  yet  it 
was  true.  Before  sbe  bad  seen  tbis  girl,  sbe  bad  fancied 
tbe  task  of  turning  ber  son  to  be  well  witbin  ber  powers. 
Now  sbe  gravely  doubted  tbe  issue;  nay,  was  inclined  to 
tbink  all  lost  if  tbe  joair  met.  Sbe  told  tbe  tutor  tbis,  in 
curt  pbrase;  and  continued:  '  So,  do  you  go  down,  man, 
at  once,  and  meet  him  at  the  door;  and  tell  bim  tbat  I 
am  bere — be  will  discover  tbat  for  himself — but  tbat  the 
hussy  is  not  here.  Say  she  is  at  Bath  or — or  anywhere 
you  please.' 

Mr.  Tbomasson  hesitated.  '  He  will  see  her,'  he 
said. 

'  Why  should  he  see  ber  ?  '  my  lady  retorted.  '  The 
house  is  full.  He  must  presently  go  elsewhere.  Put  him 
on  a  false  scent,  and  he  will  go  after  ber  hot-foot,  and 
not  find  her.     And  in  a  week  be  will  be  wiser.' 


100  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

'It  is  dangerous,'  Mr.  Thomasson  faltered,  his  eyes 
wandering  uneasily. 

'  So  am  I, '  the  viscountess  answered  in  a  passion.  '  And 
mind  you,  Thomasson,'  she  continued  fiercely,  '  you  have 
got  to  side  with  me  now  !  Crose  me,  and  you  shall  have 
neither  the  living  nor  my  good  word;  and  without  my 
word  you  may  whistle  for  your  sucking  lord  !  But  do 
my  bidding,  help  me  to  checkmate  this  baggage,  and 
I'll  see  you  have  both.  AVhy,  man,  rather  than  let  him 
marry  her,  I'd  pay  you  to  marry  her  !  I'd  rather  pay 
down  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds,  and  the  living  too. 
D'ye  hear  me?  But  it  won't  come  to  that  if  you  do 
my  bidding.' 

Still  Mr.  Thomasson  hesitated,  shrinking  from  the  task 
proposed,  not  because  he  must  lie  to  execute  it,  but  be- 
cause he  must  lie  to  Dunborough,  and  would  suffer  for 
it,  were  he  found  out.  On  the  other  hand,  the  bribe  was 
large;  the  red  gabled  house,  set  in  its  little  park,  and  as 
good  as  a  squire's,  the  hundred-acre  glebe,  the  fat  tithes 
and  Easter  dues — to  say  nothing  of  the  promised  puj^il 
and  freedom  from  his  money  troubles — tempted  him 
sorely.  He  jiaused;  and  while  he  hesitated  he  was  lost. 
For  Mr.  Dunborough,  with  the  landlord  beside  him, 
entered  the  side-hall,  booted,  spurred,  and  in  his  horse- 
man's coat;  and  looked  up  and  saw  the  pair  at  the  head 
of  the  staircase.  His  face,  gloomy  and  discontented 
before,  grcAv  darker.  He  slapped  his  muddy  boot  with 
his  whip,  and,  quitting  the  landlord  without  ceremony, 
in  three  strides  was  up  the  stairs.  He  did  not  condescend 
to  Mr.  Thomasson,  but  turned  to  the  viscountess. 

'Well,  madam,'  he  said  with  a  sneer.  'Your  humble 
servant.  This  is  an  unforeseen  honour  !  I  did  not 
expect  to  meet  you  here.' 

'I  expected  to  meet  you,''  my  lady  answered  with 
meaning. 


MOTHER  AND  SON  101 

'Glad  to  give  you  the  pleasure,'  he  said,  sneering 
again.  He  was  evidently  in  the  worst  of  tempers.  '  May 
I  ask  what  has  set  you  travelling  ? '  he  continued. 

'  Why,  naught  but  your  folly  ! '  the  viscountess  cried. 

'Thank  you  for  nothing,  my  lady,'  he  said.  'I  sup- 
pose your  spy  there  ' — and  he  scowled  at  the  tutor,  whose 
knees  shook  under  him — '  has  set  you  on  this.  Well, 
there  is  time.  I'll  settle  accounts  with  him  hy-and-by.' 

'  Lord,  my  dear  sir,'  Mr.  Thomasson  cried  faintly,  '  you 
don't  know  your  friends  ! ' 

'Don't  I?  I  think  I  am  beginning  to  find  them 
out,'  Mr.  Dunborough  answered,  slapping  his  boot  omi- 
nously, 'and  my  enemies  ! '  At  which  the  tutor  trembled 
afresh. 

'Never  mind  him,'  quoth  my  lady.  'Attend  tome, 
Dunborough.  Is  it  a  lie,  or  is  it  not,  that  you  are  going 
to  disgrace  yourself  the  way  I  have  heard  ?  ' 

'  Disgrace  myself?  '  cried  Mr.  Dunborough  hotly. 

'Ay,  disgrace  yourself.' 

'  I'll  flay  the  man  that  says  it  !  ' 

'  You  can't  flay  me,'  her  ladyship  retorted  with  corres- 
ponding spirit.  '  You  impudent,  good-for-nothing  fel- 
low !  D'youhearme?  You  are  an  imjDudent,  good-for- 
nothing  fellow,  Dunborough,  for  all  your  airs  and  graces  ! 
Come,  you  don't  swagger  over  me,  my  lad  !  And  as  sure 
as  you  do  this  that  I  hear  of,  you'll  smart  for  it.  There 
are  Lorton  and  Swanton — my  lord  can  do  as  he  pleases 
Avitli  tlicm,  and  they'll  go  from  you;  and  your  cousin 
Meg,  ugly  and  long  in  the  tooth  as  she  is,  shall  have 
them  !  You  may  put  this  beggar's  wench  in  my  chair, 
but  you  shall  smart  for  it  as  long  as  you  live  ! ' 

'  I'll  marry  whom  I  like  ! '  he  said. 

'  Then  you'll  buy  her  dear,'  cried  my  lady,  ashake 
with  rage. 

'  Dear  or  cheap,  I'll  have  her  ! '  he  answered,  inflamed 


102  THE  CASTLE  INN 

by  Disposition  and  the  discovery  that  the  tutor  had  be- 
trayed him.     '  I  shall  go  to  her  now  !     She  is  here.' 

'  That  is  a  lie  ! '  cried  Lady  Dunborongh.  '  Lie  num- 
ber one.' 

'  She  is  in  the  house  at  this  moment  ! '  he  cried  obsti- 
nately.    '  And  I  shall  go  to  her.' 

'She  is  at  Bath,'  said  my  lady,  unmoved.  'Ask 
Thomasson,  if  you  do  not  believe  me.' 

'  She  is  not  here,'  said  the  tutor  with  an  effort. 

'  Dunborough,  you'll  outface  the  devil  when  you  meet 
him  ! '  my  lady  added — for  a  closing  shot.  She  knew 
how  to  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's  country. 

He  glared  at  her,  uncertain  what  to  believe.  'I'll  see 
for  myself,'  he  said  at  last;  but  sullenly,  and  as  if  he 
foresaw  a  check. 

He  was  in  the  act  of  turning  to  carry  out  his  intention, 
when  Lady  DunlJorough,  with  great  presence  of  mind, 
called  to  a  servant  who  was  passing  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
The  man  came.  '  Go  and  fetch  this  gentleman  the  book,' 
she  said  imperiously,  '  with  the  peoj^le's  names.  Bring 
it  here.     I  want  to  see  it.' 

The  man  went,  and  in  a  moment  returned  with  it. 
She  signed  to  him  to  give  it  to  Mr.  Dunborough.  '  See 
for  yourself,'  she  said  contemptuously. 

She  calculated,  and  very  shrewdly,  that  as  the  lawyer 
and  his  companions  had  given  the  name  of  Soane  and 
taken  possession  of  Sir  George's  rooms,  only  the  name  of 
Soane  would  apjsear  in  the  book.  And  so  it  turned  out. 
Mr.  Dunborough  sought  in  vain  for  the  name  of  Master- 
son  or  for  a  jmrty  of  three,  resembling  the  one  he  pur- 
sued ;  he  found  only  the  name  of  Sir  George  Soane  entered 
when  the  rooms  were  ordered. 

'  Oh  ! '  he  said  with  an  execration.  '  He  is  here,  is  he  ? 
Wish  you  joy  of  him,  my  lady  !  Very  well,  I  go  on. 
Good  night,  madam  !  ' 


MOTHER  AND  SON  103 

The  viscountess  knew  that  opposition  woukl  stiffen 
him.     '  Stop  ! '  she  cried. 

But  he  was  already  in  the  hall,  ordering  fresh  saddle- 
horses  for  himself  and  his  man.  My  lady  heard  the 
ordei',  and  stood  listening.  Mr.  Thomasson  heard  it,  and 
stood  quaking.  At  any  moment  the  door  of  the  room  in 
which  the  girl  was  supping  might  open — it  was  adjacent 
to  the  hall — and  she  come  out,  and  the  two  would  meet. 
Nor  did  the  suspense  last  a  moment  or  two  only.  Fresh 
horses  could  not  be  ready  in  a  minute,  even  in  those  times, 
when  day  and  night  post-horses  stood  harnessed  in  the 
stalls.  Even  Mr.  Dunborough  could  not  be  served  in  a 
moment.  So  he  roared  for  a  pint  of  claret  and  a  crust, 
sent  one  servant  flying  this  way,  and  another  that,  hec- 
tored up  and  down  the  entrance,  to  the  admiration  of  the 
peeping  chambermaids;  and  for  a  while  added  much  to 
the  bustle.  Once  in  those  minutes  the  fateful  door  did 
open,  but  it  emitted  only  a  waiter.  And  in  the  end,  Mr. 
Dunborough's  horses  being  announced,  he  strode  out,  his 
spurs  ringing  on  the  steps,  and  the  viscountess  heard  him 
clatter  away  into  the  night,  and  drew  a  deep  breath  of 
relief.  For  a  day  or  two,  at  any  rate,  she  was  saved. 
For  the  time,  the  machinations  of  the  creature  below 
stairs  were  baffled. 


CHAPTER   XI 

DR.    ADDINGTON 

It  did  not  occur  to  Lad}'  Dunborough  to  ask  herself 
seriously  how  a  girl  in  the  Mastersons'  position  came  to 
be  in  such  quarters  as  the  Castle  Inn,  and  to  have  a 
middle-aged  and  apparently  respectable  attorney  for  a 
travelling  companion.  Or,  if  her  ladyship  did  ask  herself 
those  questions,  she  was  content  with  the  solution,  which 
the  tutor  out  of  his  knowledge  of  human  nature  had  sug- 
gested; namely,  that  the  girl,  wily  as  she  was  beautiful, 
knew  that  a  retreat  in  good  order,  flanked  after  the 
fashion  of  her  betters  by  duenna  and  man  of  business, 
doubled  her  virtue;  and  by  so  much  improved  her  value, 
and  her  chance  of  catching  Mr.  Dunborough  and  a 
coronet. 

There  was  one  in  the  house,  liowever,  who  did  set  him- 
self these  riddles,  and  was  at  a  loss  for  an  answer.  Sir 
George  Soane,  supping  with  Dr.  Addiugton,  the  earl's 
physician,  found  his  attention  wander  from  the  conversa- 
tion, and  more  than  once  came  near  to  stating  the  prob- 
lem which  troubled  him.  The  cosy  room,  in  which  the 
two  sat,  lay  at  the  bottom  of  a  snug  passage  leading  off 
the  principal  corridor  of  the  west  wing;  and  was  as  remote 
from  the  stir  and  bustle  of  the  more  public  part  of  the 
house  as  the  silent  movements  of  Sir  George's  servant 
were  from  the  clumsy  haste  of  the  helpers  whom  the 
pressure  of  the  moment  had  compelled  the  landlord  to 
call  in. 


DR.   AD  DING  TON  105 

The  physician  had  taken  his  supper  earlier,  but  was 
gourmet  enough  to  follow,  now  with  an  approving 
word,  and  now  with  a  sigh,  the  different  stages  of 
Sir  George's  meal.  In  jmblic,  a  starched,  dry  man, 
the  ideal  of  a  fashionable  London  doctor  of  the  severer 
type,  he  was  in  private  a  benevolent  and  easy  friend; 
a  judge  of  port,  and  one  who  commended  it  to  others; 
and  a  man  of  some  weight  in  the  political  world.  In 
his  early  days  he  had  been  a  mad  doctor;  and  at 
Batson's  he  could  still  disconcert  the  impertinent  by 
a  shrewd  glance,  learned  and  practised  among  those 
unfortunates. 

With  such  qualifications.  Dr.  Addington  was  not  slow 
to  perceive  Sir  George's  absence  of  mind;  and  presuming 
on  old  friendship — he  had  attended  the  younger  man 
from  boyhood — he  began  to  probe  for  the  cause.  Raising 
his  half-filled  glass  to  the  light,  and  rolling  the  last 
mouthful  on  his  tongue,  'I  am  afraid,'  he  said,  'that 
what  I  heard  in  town  was  true?  ' 

'  What  was  it?  '  Soane  asked,  rousing  himself. 

'  I  heard.  Sir  George,  that  my  Lady  Hazard  had  proved 
an  inconstant  mistress  of  late  ?  ' 

'  Yes.  Hang  the  jade  !  And  yet— we  could  not  live 
without  her  !  ' 

'  They  are  saying  that  you  lost  three  thousand  to  my 
Lord  IVIarch,  the  night  before  you  left  town  ? ' 

'Halve  it.' 

'  Indeed  ?     Still — an  expensive  mistress  ?  ' 

'  Can  you  direct  me  to  a  cheap  one  ? '  Sir  George  said 
rather  crustily. 

'  No.  Bnt  doesn't  it  occur  to  you  a  wife  with  money 
— might  be  cheapei'?'  the  doctor  asked  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye. 

Sir  George  shrugged  his  shoulders  for  answer,  and  turn- 
ing  from  the  table — the  servant  had  withdrawn — brushed 


106  THE  CASTLE  INN 

the  crumbs  from  his  l^reeches,  aud  sat  staring  at  the  fire, 
his  glass  in  his  hand.  'I  suppose — it  will  come  to  that 
presently,'  he  said,  sipping  his  wine. 

'  Very  soon,'  the  doctor  answered,  drily,  'unless  I  am 
in  error.' 

Sir  George  looked  at  him.  '  Come,  doctor  ! '  he  said. 
'  You  know  something  !     What  is  it?  ' 

'  I  know  that  it  is  town  talk  that  you  lost  seven  thou- 
sand last  season;  and  God  knows  how  many  thousands  in 
the  three  seasons  before  it  ! ' 

'  Well,  one  must  live,'  Sir  George  answered  lightly. 

'  But  not  at  that  rate. ' 

'  In  that  state  of  life,  doctor,  into  which  God  has  been 
pleased — you  know  the  rest.' 

'  In  that  state  of  life  into  which  the  devil  ! '  retorted 
the  doctor  Avith  heat.  '  If  I  thought  that  my  boy  would 
ever  grow  up  to  do  nothiugbetter  than — than — but  there, 
forgive  me.  I  grow  warm  when  I  think  of  the  old  trees, 
and  the  old  pictures,  and  the  old  Halls  that  you  fine  gen- 
tlemen at  White's  squander  in  a  night  !  AYhy,  I  know  of 
a  little  place  in  Oxfordshire,  which,  were  it  mine  by 
inheritance — as  it  is  my  brother's — I  would  not  stake 
against  a  Canons  or  a  Petworth  ! ' 

'  And  Stavordale  would  stake  it  against  a  bootjack — 
rather  than  not  play  at  all  ! '  Sir  George  answered  com- 
placently. 

'  The  more  fool  he  ! '  snapped  the  doctor. 

SSoIthink.' 

'  Eh  ? ' 

'  So  I  think,'  Sir  George  answered  coolly.  '  But  one 
must  be  in  the  fashion,  doctor.' 

'  One  must  be  in  the  Fleet  ! '  the  doctor  retorted.  '  To 
be  in  the  fashion  you'll  ruin  yourself  !  If  you  have  not 
done  it  already,'  he  continued  with  something  like  a 
groan.     '  There,  pass  the  bottle.     I  have  not  patience 


DR.   ADDING  TON  107 

with  yon.  One  of  these  fine  clays  yon  will  awake  to  find 
yourself  in  the  Eules.' 

'  Doctor, '  Soane  answered,  returning  to  his  jioint,  '  you 
know  something.' 

'  Well ' 

'  You  know  why  my  lord  sent  for  me.' 

'  And  what  if  I  do  ? '  Dr.  Addington  answered,  look- 
ing thoughtfully  through  his  wine.  '  To  tell  the  truth, 
I  do.  Sir  George,  I  do,  and  I  wish  I  did  not ;  for  the 
news  I  have  is  not  of  the  best.  There  is  a  claimant  to 
that  money  come  forward.  I  do  not  know  his  name  or 
anything  about  him;  but  his  lordship  thinks  seriously 
of  the  matter.  I  am  not  sure,'  the  doctor  continued, 
with  his  professional  air,  and  as  if  his  jjatient  in  the  other 
room  were  alone  in  his  mind,  '  that  the  vexation  attend- 
ing it  has  not  precipitated  this  attack,  I'm  not — at  all — 
sure  of  it.     And  Lady  Chatham  certainly  thinks  so.' 

Sir  George  was  some  time  silent.  Then,  with  a  fair 
show  of  indifference,  '  And  who  is  the  claimant  ? '  he 
asked. 

'That  I  don't  know,'  Dr.  Addington  answered.  'He 
purports,  I  suppose,  to  be  your  uncle's  heir.  But  I  do 
know  that  his  attorney  has  forwarded  copies  of  docu- 
ments to  his  lordship,  and  that  Lord  Chatham  thinks 
the  matter  of  serious  import.' 

'The  worse  for  me,'  said  Sir  George,  forcing  a  yawn. 
'  As  you  say,  doctor,  your  news  is  not  of  the  best.' 

'  Nor,  I  hope,  of  the  worst, '  the  physician  answered 
with  feeling.     '  The  estate  is  entailed  ?  ' 

Sir  George  shook  his  head.  'No,'  he  said.  'It  is 
mortgaged.     But  that  is  not  the  same  thing.' 

The  doctor's  face  showed  genuine  distress.  '  Ah,  my 
friend,  you  should  not  have  done  that,'  he  said  reproach- 
fully. '  A  property  that  has  been  in  the  family — why, 
since ' 


108  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'My  great-grandfather  the  stay-maker's  time,'  Sir 
George  answered  flippantly,  as  he  emptied  his  glass. 
'  You  know  Selwyn's  last  upon  that  ?  It  came  by  bones, 
and  it  is  going  by  bones. ' 

'  God  forbid  ! '  said  the  physician,  rubbing  his  gold- 
rimmed  glasses  with  an  air  of  kindly  vexation,  not  un- 
mixed with  perplexity.  '  If  I  thought  that  my  boy  would 
ever  come  to — to ' 

'  Buzz  the  gold-headed  cane  ?  '  Sir  George  said  gravely. 
'  Yes,  doctor,  what  Avould  you  do  ?  ' 

But  the  physician,  instead  of  answering,  looked  fixedly 
at  him,  nodded,  and  turned  away.  '  You  would  deceive 
some.  Sir  George,'  he  said  quietly,  'but  you  do  not 
deceive  me.  AVhen  a  man  who  is  not  jocular  by  nature 
makes  two  jokes  in  as  many  minutes,  he  is  hard  hit. ' 

'  Insight?  '  drawled  Sir  George  lazily.      '  Or   instinct.' 

'  Experience  among  madmen — some  would  call  it,'  the 
doctor  retorted  with  warmth.  '  But  it  is  not.  It  is  what 
you  fine  gentlemen  at  AYhite's  have  no  part  in  !  Good 
feeling.' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  Soane;  and  then  a  different  look  came  into 
his  face.  He  stooped  and  poked  the  fire.  '  Pardon  me, 
doctor,'  he  said  soberly.  '  You  are  a  good  fellow.  It 
is — well,  of  course,  it's  a  blow.  If  your  news  be  true, 
I  stand  to  lose  fifty  thousand;  and  shall  be  worth  about 
as  much  as  a  Nabob  spends  yearly  on  his  liveries.' 

Dr.  Addingtou,  in  evident  distress,  thrust  back  his 
wig.  '  Is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?  '  he  said.  '  Dear,  dear,  I  did 
not  dream  of  this.' 

'  Nor  I,'  Sir  George  said  drily.  '  Or  I  should  not  have 
betted  with  March.' 

'  And  the  old  house  ! '  the  doctor  continued,  more  and 
more  moved.      '  I  don't  know  one  more  comfortable.' 

'You  must  buy  it,'  said  Soane.  'I  have  spared  the 
timber,  and  there  is  a  little  of  the  old  wine  left.' 


DR.   AD  DING  TON  109 

'  Dear,  dear  ! '  the  doctor  answered ;  and  his  sigh  said 
more  than  the  words.  Apparently  it  was  also  more 
effectual  in  moving  Sir  George.  He  rose  and  began  to 
pace  the  room,  choosing  a  part  where  his  face  evaded  the 
light  of  the  candles  that  stood  in  heavy  silver  sconces  on 
the  dark  mahogany.  Presently  he  laughed,  but  the  laugh 
was  mirthless. 

'It  is  quite  the  Rake's  Progress,'  he  said,  pausing 
before  one  of  Hogarth's  prints  which  hung  on  the  wall. 
'  Perhaps  I  have  been  a  little  less  of  a  fool  and  a  little 
more  of  a  rogue  than  my  prototype;  but  the  end  is  the 
same.  D — n  me,  I  am  sorry  for  the  servants,  doctor — 
though  I  dare  swear  that  they  have  robbed  me  right  and 
left.  It  is  a  pity  that  clumsy  fool,  Dunborough,  did  not 
get  home  when  he  had  the  chance  the  other  day.' 

The  doctor  took  snuff,  put  up  his  box,  filled  his  glass 
and  emptied  it  before  he  spoke.  Then,  '  No,  no.  Sir 
George,  it  has  not  come  to  that  yet,'  he  said  heartily. 
'  There  is  only  one  thing  for  it  now.  They  must  do 
something  for  you.'  And  he  also  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  looking  at  his  companion. 

'  Who  ?  '  Soane  asked,  though  lie  knew  very  well  what 
the  other  meant. 

'  The  Government,'  said  the  doctor.  '  The  mission  to 
Turin  is  likely  to  be  vacant  by-and-by.  Or,  if  that  be 
too  much  to  ask,  a  consulship,  say  at  Genoa  or  Leghorn, 
might  be  found,  and  serve  for  a  stepping-stone  to  Flor- 
ence.    Sir  Horace  has  done  well  there,  and  you ' 

'  Might  toady  a  Grand-duke  and  bear-lead  sucking  peers 
— as  well  as  another  ! '  Soane  answered  with  a  gesture  of 
disgust.  '  Ugh,  one  might  as  well  be  Thomasson  and 
ruin  boys.  No,  doctor,  that  will  not  do.  I  had  sooner 
hang  myself  at  once,  as  poor  Fanny  Braddock  did  at 
Bath,  or  put  a  pistol  to  my  head  like  Bland  ! ' 

'  God  forbid  !  '  said  the  doctor  solemnly. 


no  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Sir  George  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  little  by  little 
his  face  lost  its  harduess.  'Yes,  God  forbid,'  he  said 
gently.  '  But  it  is  odd.  There  is  poor  Tavistock  with  a 
pretty  wife  and  two  children,  and  another  coming;  and 
Woburn  and  thirty  thousand  a  year  to  inherit,  broke  his 
neck  last  week  with  the  hounds;  and  I,  who  have  noth- 
ing to  inherit,  why  nothing  hurts  me! ' 

Dr.  Addington  disregarded  his  words. 

'They  must  do  something  for  you  at  home  then,'  he 
said,  firmly  set  on  his  benevolent  designs.  '  In  the  Mint 
or  the  Customs.  There  should  not  be  the  least  difficulty 
about  it.  You  must  speak  to  his  lordship,  and  it  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  he  will  refuse.' 

Sir  George  grunted,  and  might  have  expressed  his 
doubts,  but  at  that  moment  the  sound  of  voices  raised 
in  altercation  penetrated  the  room  from  the  passage.  A 
second  later,  while  the  two  stood  listening,  arrested  by 
the  noise,  the  door  was  thrown  open  with  such  violence 
that  the  candles  flickered  in  the  draught.  Two  persons 
appeared  on  the  threshold,  the  one  striving  to  make  his 
way  in,  the  other  to  resist  the  invasion. 

The  former  was  our  friend  Mr.  Fishwick,  who  having 
succeeded  in  pushing  past  his  antagonist,  stared  round 
the  room  with  a  mixture  of  astonishment  and  chagrin. 
'  But — this  is  not  his  lordship's  room  ! '  he  cried.  '  I  tell 
you,  I  will  see  his  lordship!'   he  continued.     'I  have 

business  with  him,  and '  here  his  gaze  alighted  on  Sir 

George,  and  he  stood  confounded. 

Dr.  Addington  took  advantage  of  the  pause.  '  Wat- 
kins,'  he  said  in  an  awful  voice,  '  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this  unmannerly  intrusion  ?     And  who  is  this  person  ?  ' 

'He  persisted  that  he  must  see  his  lordship,'  the  ser- 
vant, a  sleek,  respectable  man  in  black,  answered.  'And 
rather  than  have  words  about  it  at  his  lordship's  door — 
which  I  would  not  for  twice  the  likes  of  him  ! '  he  added 


DR.   ADDING  TON  111 

with  a  malevolent  glance  at  the  attorney — '  I  brought 
him  here.  I  believe  he  is  mad.  I  told  him  it  was  out  of 
the  question,  if  he  was  the  king  of  England  or  my  lord 
duke.  But  he  would  have  it  that  he  had  an  appoint- 
ment.' 

'  So  I  have  !  '  cried  Mr.  Fishwick  with  heat  and  an 
excited  gesture.  '  I  have  an  appointment  with  Lord 
Chatham.  I  should  have  been  with  his  lordship  at  nine 
o'clock.' 

'  An  appointment  ?  At  this  time  of  night  ?  '  Dr.  Ad- 
dington  returned  with  a  freezing  mien.  '  AVith  Lord 
Chatham  ?  And  who  may  you  please  to  be>  sir,  who 
claim  this  privilege  ?  ' 

'  My  name  is  Fishwick,  sir,  and  I  am  an  attorney,'  our 
friend  replied. 

*  A  mad  attorney  ?  '  Dr.  Addington  answered,  afEecting 
to  hear  him  amiss. 

'  No  more  mad,  sir,  than  you  are  !  '  Mr.  Fishwick 
retorted,  kindling  at  the  insinuation.  '  Do  you  compre- 
hend me,  sir?  I  come  by  appointment.  My  lord  has 
been  so  good  as  to  send  for  me,  and  I  defy  any  one  to 
close  his  door  on  me  ! ' 

'  Are  you  aware,  sir, '  said  the  doctor,  frowning  under 
his  wig  with  the  port  of  an  indignant  Jupiter,  '  what  hour 
it  is?     It  is  ten  o'clock.' 

'  It  may  be  ten  o'clock  or  it  may  be  eleven  o'clock,'  the 
attorney  answered  doggedly.  '  But  his  lordship  has  hon- 
oured me  with  a  summons,  and  see  him  I  must.  I  insist 
on  seeing  him.' 

'  You  may  insist  or  not  as  you  please,'  said  Dr.  Adding- 
ton contemptuously.  '  You  will  not  see  him.  AVatkins,' 
he  continued,  '  what  is  this  cock-and-bull  story  of  a  sum- 
mons ?     Has  his  lordship  sent  for  any  one  ?  ' 

'About  nine  o'clock  he  said  that  he  would  see  Sir 
George  Soane  if  he  was  in  the  house,'  AVatkins  answered. 


112  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  I  did  not  know  that  Sir  George  was  here,  and  I  sent  the 
message  to  his  apartments  by  one  of  the  men.' 

'Well,'  said  Dr.  Addington  in  his  coldest  manner, 
'  what  has  that  to  do  with  this  gentleman  ?  ' 

'I  think  I  can  tell  you,'  Sir  George  said,  intervening 
with  a  smile.  '  His  party  have  the  rooms  that  were  re- 
served for  me.  And  doubtless  by  an  error  the  message 
which  was  intended  for  me  was  delivered  to  him.' 

'Ah!'  said  Dr.  Addington  gruffly.     'I  understand.' 

Alas!  poor  Mr.  Fish  wick  understood  too;  and  his  face, 
as  the  truth  dawned  on  him,  was  one  of  the  most  comical 
sights  ever  seen.  A  nervous,  sanguine  man,  the  attorney 
had  been  immensely  elated  by  the  honour  paid  to  him; 
he  had  thought  his  cause  won  and  his  fortune  made.  The 
downfall  was  proportionate:  iu  a  second  his  pomp  and 
importance  were  gone,  and  he  stood  before  them  timidly 
rubbing  one  hand  on  another.  Yet  even  in  the  ridiculous 
position  in  which  the  mistake  placed  him — in  the  wrong 
and  with  all  his  heroics  wasted — he  retained  a  sort  of 
manliness.  '  Dear  me,  dear  me,'  he  said,  his  jaw  fallen, 
'  I — Your  most  humble  servant,  sir  !  I  offer  a  thousand 
apologies  for  the  intrusion  !  But  having  business  with 
his  lordship,  and  receiving  the  message,'  he  continued  in 
a  tone  of  pathetic  regret,  *  it  was  natural  I  should  think 
it  was  intended  for  me.  I  can  say  no  more  than  that  I 
humbly  crave  pardon  for  intruding  on  yon,  honourable 
gentlemen,  over  your  wine.' 

Dr.  Addington  bowed  stiffly;  he  was  not  the  man  to 
forgive  a  liberty.  But  Sir  George  had  a  kindly  impulse. 
In  spite  of  himself,  he  could  not  refrain  from  liking  the 
little  man  who  so  strangely  haunted  his  steps.  There 
was  a  spare  glass  on  the  table.  He  pushed  it  and  the 
bottle  towards  Mr.  Fish  wick. 

'  There  is  no  harm  done,'  he  said  kindly.  '  A  glass  of 
wine  with  you,  sir.' 


DR.   ADDING  TON  113 

Mr.  Fishwick  in  his  surprise  and  nervousness,  dropped 
his  hat,  picked  it  up,  aud  dropped  it  again;  finally  he  let 
it  lie  while  he  filled  his  glass.  Ilis  hand  shook;  he  was 
unaccountably  agitated.  Bat  he  managed  to  acquit  him- 
self fairly,  aud  with  a  '  Greatly  honoured.  Sir  George. 
Good-night,  gentlemen,'  he  disappeared. 

'  AVhat  is  his  business  with  Lord  Chatham  ? '  Dr.  Ad- 
dington  asked  rather  coldly.  It  was  plain  that  he  did 
not  approve  of  Sir  George's  condescension. 

'I  have  no  notion,'  Soane  answered,  yawning.  'But 
he  has  got  a  very  pretty  girl  with  him.  Whether  she  is 
laying  traps  for  Dunborough ' 

'  The  viscountess's  son  ?  ' 

'  Just  so — I  cannot  say.  But  that  is  the  old  harridan's 
account  of  it.' 

'  Is  she  here  too  ?  ' 

'Lord,  yes;  and  they  had  no  end  of  a  quarrel  down- 
stairs. There  is  a  story  about  the  girl  and  Dunborough. 
I'll  tell  it  you  some  time.' 

'  I  began  to  think — he  was  here  on  your  business,'  said 
the  doctor. 

'  He  ?  Oh,  no,'  Sir  George  answered  without  suspicion, 
and  turned  to  look  for  his  candlestick.  '  I  suppose  that 
he  is  in  the  case  I  am  in — wants  something  and  comes  to 
the  fountain  of  honour  to  get  it.' 

And  bidding  the  other  good-night,  he  went  to  bed ;  not 
to  sleep,  but  to  lie  awake  and  reckon  and  calculate,  and 
add  a  charge  here  to  interest  there,  and  set  both  against 
income,  and  find  nothing  remain. 

He  had  sneered  at  the  old  home  because  it  had  been  in 
his  family  only  so  many  generations.  But  there  is  this 
of  evil  in  an  old  house — it  is  bad  to  live  in,  but  worse  to 
part  from.  Sir  George,  straining  his  eyes  in  the  dark- 
ness, saw  the  long  avenue  of  elms  and  the  rooks'  nests, 
and  the  startled  birds  circling  overhead;  and  at  the  end 


114  THE  CASTLE  INN 

of  the  vista  the  wide  doorway,  aed.  temp.  Jac.  1 — saw  it 
all  more  lucidly  than  he  had  seen  it  since  the  September 
morning  when  he  traversed  it,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  with  his 
first  gun  on  his  arm.  Well,  it  was  gone;  but  he  was  Sir 
George,  macaroni  and  fashionable,  arbiter  of  elections  at 
White's,  and  great  at  Almack's,  more  powerful  in  his 
sphere  than  a  belted  earl  !  But,  then,  that  Avas  gone  too, 
with  the  money — and — and  what  was  left  ?  Sir  George 
groaned  and  turned  on  his  pillow  and  thought  of  Bland 
and  Fanny  Braddock.  He  wondered  if  any  one  had  ever 
left  the  Castle  by  the  suicide  door,  and,  to  escape  his 
thoughts,  lit  a  candle  and  read  '  La  Belle  Hcloise,'  which 
he  had  in  his  mail. 


CHAPTEE   XII 

JULIA 

It  is  certain  that  if  Sir  George  Soane  had  borne  any  other 
name,  the  girl,  after  the  conversation  which  had  taken 
place  between  them  on  the  dingy  staircase  at  Oxford,  must 
have  hated  him.  There  is  a  kind  of  condescension  from 
man  to  woman,  in  which  the  man  says,  '  My  good  girl, 
not  for  me — but  do  take  care  of  yourself,'  which  a  woman 
of  the  least  pride  finds  to  be  of  all  modes  of  treatment 
the  most  shameful  and  the  most  humiliating.  The  mas- 
terful overtures  of  such  a  lover  as  Dunborough,  who 
would  take  all  by  storm,  are  still  natural,  though  they 
lack  respect;  a  woman  would  be  courted,  and  sometimes 
would  be  courted  in  the  old  rough  fashion.  But,  for  the 
other  mode  of  treatment,  she  may  be  a  Grizel,  or  as  pa- 
tient— a  short  course  of  that  will  sharpen  not  only  her 
tongue,  but  her  finger-nails. 

Yet  this,  or  something  like  it,  Julia,  who  was  far  from 
being  the  most  patient  woman  in  the  world,  had  suffered 
at  Sir  George's  hands;  believing  at  the  time  that  he  was 
some  one  else,  or,  rather,  being  ignorant  then  and  for  just 
an  hour  afterwards  that  such  a  person  as  Sir  George  Soane 
existed.  Enlightened  on  this  point  and  on  some  others 
connected  with  it  (which  a  sagacious  reader  may  divine 
for  himself)  the  girl's  first  feeling  in  face  of  the  astonish- 
ing future  opening  before  her  had  been  one  of  spiteful 
exultation.  She  hated  him,  and  he  would  suffer.  She 
hated  him  with  all  her  heart  and  strength,  and  he  would 


116  THE   CASTLE  INN 

snfier.  There  were  balm  and  sweet  satisfaction  in  the 
thought. 

But  presently,  dwelling  on  the  matter,  she  began  to 
relent.  The  very  completeness  of  the  revenge  which  she 
had  in  prospect  robbed  her  of  her  satisfaction.  The  man 
was  so  dependent  on  her,  so  deeply  indebted  to  her,  must 
suffer  so  much  by  reason  of  her,  that  the  maternal  in- 
stiact,  which  is  said  to  be  developed  even  in  half-grown 
girls,  took  him  under  its  protection;  and  when  that  scene 
occurred  in  the  public  room  of  the  Castle  Inn  and  he 
stood  forward  to  shield  her  (albeit  in  an  arrogant,  care- 
less, half-insolent  way  that  must  have  wounded  her  in 
other  circumstances),  she  was  not  content  to  forgive  him 
only — with  a  smile;  but  long  after  her  companion  had 
fallen  asleep,  Julia  sat  brooding  over  the  fire,  her  arms 
clasped  about  her  knees;  now  reading  the  embers  with 
parted  lips  and  shining  eyes,  and  now  sighing  gently — 
for  'lafemme  propose,  mais  Dieu  dispose.'  And  noth- 
ing is  certain. 

After  this,  it  may  not  have  been  pure  accident  that  cast 
her  in  Sir  George's  way  when  he  strolled  out  of  the  house 
next  morning.  A  coach  had  come  in,  and  was  changing 
horses  before  the  porch.  The  passengers  were  moving 
to  and  fro  before  the  house,  grooms  and  horse-boys  w^ere 
shouting  and  hissing,  the  guard  was  throwing  out  parcels. 
Soane  passed  through  the  bustle,  and,  strolling  to  the  end 
of  the  High  Street,  saw  the  girl  seated  on  a  low  parapet 
of  the  bridge  that,  near  the  end  of  the  inn  gardens,  car- 
ries the  Salisbury  road  over  the  Kennet.  She  wore  a 
plain  riding-coat,  such  as  ladies  then  affected  when  they 
travelled  and  would  avoid  their  hoops  and  patches.  A 
little  hood  covered  her  hair,  which,  undressed  and  un- 
powdered,  hung  in  a  club  behind;  and  she  held  up  a 
plain  fan  between  her  complexion  and  the  sun. 

Her  seat,  though  quiet  and  remote  from  the  bustle — 


JULIA  '  117 

for  the  Salisbury  road  is  the  less  frequented  of  the  two 
roads — was  in  view  of  the  gates  leading  to  the  Inn;  and 
her  extreme  beauty,  which  was  that  of  exj^ression  as  well 
as  feature,  made  her  a  mark  for  a  dozen  furtive  eyes,  of 
which  she  affected  to  be  unconscious.  But  as  soon  as  Sir 
George's  gaze  fell  on  her,  her  look  met  his  frankly  and 
she  smiled;  and  then  again  her  eyes  dropped  and  studied 
the  road  before  her,  and  she  blushed  in  a  way  Soane  found 
enchanting.  He  had  been  going  into  the  town,  but  he 
turned  and  went  to  her  and  sat  down  on  the  bridge  beside 
her,  almost  with  the  air  of  an  old  acquaintance.  He 
opened  the  conversation  by  saying  that  it  was  a  prodigious 
fine  day;  she  agreed.  That  the  Downs  were  uncommonly 
healthy;  she  said  the  same.     And  then  there  was  silence. 

'  Well?  '  he  said  after  a  while;  and  he  looked  at  her. 

'  Well  ? '  she  answered  in  the  same  tone.  And  she 
looked  at  him  over  the  edge  of  her  fan,  her  eyes  laughing. 

'How  did  you  sleep,  child?'  he  asked;  while  he 
thought,  '  Lord  !     How  handsome  she  is  ! ' 

'Perfectly,  sir,'  she  answered,  'thanks  to  your  excel- 
lency's kindness.' 

Her  voice  as  well  as  her  eyes  laughed.  He  stared  at 
her,  wondering  at  the  change  in  her.  '  You  are  lively 
this  morning,'  he  said. 

'I  cannot  say  the  same  of  you.  Sir  George,'  she  an- 
swered. '  When  you  came  out,  and  before  you  saw  me, 
your  face  was  as  long  as  a  coach-horse's.' 

Sir  George  winced.  He  knew  where  his  thoughts  had 
been.  '  That  was  before  I  saw  you,  child,'  he  said.  '  In 
your  company ' 

'You  are  scarcely  more  lively,'  she  answered  saucily. 
'  Do  you  flatter  yourself  that  you  are  ?  ' 

Sir  George  was  astonished.  He  was  aware  that  the  girl 
lacked  neither  wit  nor  quickness;  but  hitherto  he  had 
found  her  passionate  at  one  time,  difficult  and /W/'o?^r//t' 


118  THE  CASTLE  INN 

at  another,  at  no  time  playful  or  coquettish.  Here,  and 
this  morning,  she  did  not  seem  to  be  the  same  woman. 
She  sjDoke  with  ease,  laughed  with  the  heart  as  well  as  the 
lips,  met  his  ej'es  Avith  freedom  and  without  embarrass- 
ment, countered  his  sallies  with  sportiveness — in  a  word, 
carried  herself  towards  him  as  though  she  were  an  equal; 
precisely  as  Lady  Betty  and  the  Honourable  Fanny  car- 
ried themselves.     He  stared  at  her. 

And  she,  seeing  the  look,  laughed  in  pure  happiness, 
knowing  what  was  in  his  mind,  and  knowing  her  own 
mind  very  well.     '  I  2:)uzzle  you  ?  '  she  said. 

'You  do,'  he  ansAvered.  'What  are  you  doing  here? 
And  why  have  you  taken  up  Avith  that  laAA'ver  ?  And  AAdiy 
are  you  dressed,  child ' 

'Like  this?'  she  said,  rising,  and  sitting  down  again. 
'  You  think  it  is  above  my  station  ?  ' 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  declining  to  put  his  views 
into  Avords;  instead,  '  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  '  he  said. 

'  What  do  you  suppose  ?  '  she  asked,  averting  her  eyes 
for  the  first  time. 

'  Well,  of  course — you  may  be  here  to  meet  Dunbor- 
ongh,'  he  answered  bluntly.  '  His  mother  seems  to  think 
that  he  is  going  to  marry  you.' 

'  And  AA'hat  do  you  think,  sir  ?  ' 

'  I  ?  '  said  Sir  George,  reverting  to  the  easy,  half-inso- 
lent tone  she  hated.  And  he  tapped  his  Paris  snuff-box 
and  spoke  Avitli  tantalising  slowness.  '  Well,  if  that  be 
the  case,  I  should  advise  you  to  see  that  Mr.  Dunbor- 
ough's  sur2:)lice — covers  a  parson.' 

She  sat  still  and  silent  for  a  full  half-minute  after  he 
had  spoken.  Then  she  rose  without  a  word,  and  Avithout 
looking  at  him;  and,  Avalking  aAvay  to  the  farther  end  of 
the  bridge,  sat  doAvn  there  Avith  her  shoulder  turned  to 
him. 

Soane  felt  himself  rebuffed,  and  for  a  moment  let  his 


JULIA  119 

anger  get  the  better  of  him.  '  D — u  the  girl,  I  only  spoke 
for  her  own  good  ! '  he  muttered;  then  reflecting  that  if 
he  followed  her  she  might  remove  again  and  make  him 
ridiculous,  he  rose  to  go  into  the  house.  But  apparently 
that  was  not  what  she  wished.  He  was  scarcely  on  his 
legs  before  she  turned  her  head,  saw  that  he  was  going, 
and  imperiously  beckoned  to  him. 

He  went  to  her,  wondering  as  much  at  her  audacity  as 
her  pettishness.  When  he  reached  her,  '  Sir  George,' 
she  said,  retaining  her  seat  and  looking  gravely  at  him, 
while  he  stood  before  her  like  a  boy  undergoing  correc- 
tion, '  you  have  twice  insulted  me — once  in  Oxford  when, 
believing  Mr.  Dunborough's  hurt  lay  at  my  door,  I  was 
doing  what  I  could  to  rejoair  it;  and  again  to-day.  If 
you  wish  to  see  more  of  me,  you  must  refrain  from  doing 
so  a  third  time.  You  know,  a  third  time — you  know 
what  a  third  time  does.  And  more — one  moment,  if  you 
please.  I  must  ask  you  to  treat  me  differently.  I  make 
no  claim  to  be  a  gentlewoman,  but  my  condition  is 
altered.  A  relation  has  left  me  a — a  fortune,  and  when 
I  met  you  here  last  night  I  was  on  my  way  to  Bath  to 
claim  it.' 

Sir  George  passed  from  the  surprise  into  which  the  first 
part  of  this  speech  had  thrown  him,  to  surprise  still 
greater.  At  last,  'I  am  vastly  glad  to  hear  it,'  he  said. 
'  For  most  of  us  it  is  easier  to  drop  a  fortune  than  to 
find  one.' 

'Is  it'?'  she  said,  and  laughed  musically.  Theu, 
moving  her  skirt  to  show  him  that  he  might  sit  down, 
'  Well,  I  suppose  it  is.  You  have  no  experience  of  that, 
I  hope,  sir  ?  ' 

He  nodded. 

'  The  gaming-table  ?  '  she  said. 

'Not  this  time,'  he  answered,  wondering  why  he  told 
her.     '  I  had  a  grandfather,  who  made  a  will.     He  had  a 


120  THE  CASTLE  INN 

fancy  to  wrap  up  a  bombshell  in  the  Avill.  Now — the 
shell  has  burst. ' 

'I  am  sorry,'  she  said;  and  was  silent  a  moment.  At 
length,  'Does  it  make — any  great  difEerence  to  you?' 
she  asked  naively. 

Sir  George  looked  at  her  as  if  he  were  studying  her 
appearance.     Then,  '  Yes,  child,  it  does,'  he  said. 

She  hesitated,  but  seemed  to  make  up  her  mind.  '  I 
have  never  asked  you  where  you  live,'  she  said  softly; 
'  have  you  no  house  in  the  country  ?  ' 

He  suppressed  something  between  an  oath  and  a  groan. 
'  Yes,'  he  said,  '  I  have  a  house.' 

'  What  do  you  call  it  ?  ' 

'  Estcombe  Hall.     It  is  in  Wiltshire,  not  far  from  here. ' 

She  looked  at  her  fan,  and  idly  flapjjed  it  open,  and 
again  closed  it  in  the  air.  '  Is  it  a  fine  place  ?  '  she  said 
carelessly. 

'  I  suppose  so,'  he  answered,  wincing. 

'  With  trees,  and  gardens,  and  woods  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'  And  water  ?  ' 

'Yes.     There  is  a  river. ' 

'  You  used  to  fish  in  it  as  a  boy  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'  Estcombe  !  it  is  a  pretty  name.  And  shall  yon 
lose  it?' 

But  that  was  too  much  for  Soane's,  equanimity.  '  Oh, 
d — n  the  girl  ! '  he  cried,  rising  abruptly,  but  sitting 
down  again.  Then,  as  she  recoiled,  in  anger  real  or 
afEected,  '  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  said  formally.  '  But — 
it  is  not  the  custom  to  ask  so  many  questions  upon  pri- 
vate matters.' 

'  Keally,  Sir  George?'  she  said,  receiving  the  informa- 
tion gravely,  and  raising  her  eyebrows.  '  Then  Estcombe 
is  your  Mr.  Dunborough,  is  it  ? ' 


JULIA  131 

'  If  you  will,'  he  sairl,,  almost  sullenly. 

'  But  you  love  it,'  she  answered,  studying  her  fan,  '  and 
I  do  not  love — Mr.  Duuborough  ! ' 

Marvelling  at  her  coolness  and  the  uimbleness  of  her 
wit,  he  turned  so  that  he  looked  her  full  in  the  face. 
'Miss  Masterson,'  he  said,  'you  are  too  clever  for  me. 
Will  you  tell  me  where  you  learned  so  much  ?  'Fore 
Gad,  you  might  have  been  at  Mrs.  Chapone's,  the  way 
you  talk.' 

'  Mrs.  Chapone's  ?  '  she  said. 

'  A  learned  lady,'  he  explained. 

'  I  was  at  a  school,'  she  answered  simply,  '  until  I  was 
fifteen.  A  godfather,  whom  I  never  knew,  left  money  to 
my  father  to  be  spent  on  my  schooling.' 

'  Lord  ! '  he  said.     '  And  where  were  you  at  school  ?  ' 

'  At  Worcester. ' 

'  And  what  have  you  done  since  ? — if  I  may  ask.' 

'  I  have  been  at  home.  I  should  have  taught  children, 
or  gone  into  service  as  a  waiting- woman;  but  my  father 
would  keep  me  with  him.  Now  I  am  glad  of  it,  as  this 
money  has  come  to  me.' 

'  Lord  !  it  is  a  jierfect  romance  ! '  he  exclaimed.  And 
on  the  instant  he  fancied  that  he  had  the  key  to  the  mys- 
tery, and  her  beauty  She  was  illegitimate — a  rich  man's 
child  !  '  Gad,  Mr.  Kichardson  should  hear  of  it,'  he  con- 
tinued with  more  than  his  usual  energy.  '  Pamela — why 
you  might  be  Pamela  ! ' 

'  That  if  you  please,'  she  said  quickly,  '  for  certainly  I 
shall  never  be  Clarissa.' 

Sir  George  laughed.  'With  such  charms  it  is  better 
not  to  be  too  sure  ! '  he  answered.  And  he  looked  at  her 
furtively  and  looked  away  again.  A  coach  bound  east- 
wards came  out  of  the  gates;  but  it  had  little  of  his  atten- 
tion, though  he  seemed  to  be  watching  the  bustle.  He 
was  thinking  that  if  he  sat  much  longer  with  this  strange 


123  THE  CASTLE  INN 

girl,  he  was  a  lost  man.  And  then  again  lie  thought — 
what  did  it  matter  ?  If  the  best  he  had  to  expect  was 
exile  on  a  pittance,  a  consulship  at  Genoa,  a  governorship 
at  Guadeloupe,  where  would  he  find  a  more  beautiful,  a 
wittier,  a  gayer  companion  ?  And  for  her  birth — a  fico  ! 
His  great-grandfather  had  made  money  in  stays;  and  the 
money  was  gone  !  Ko  doubt  there  Avould  be  gibing  at 
White's,  and  shrugging  at  Almack's;  but  a  fico,  too,  for 
that — it  would  not  hurt  him  at  Guadeloupe,  and  little  at 
Genoa.  And  then  on  a  sudden  the  fortune  of  which  she 
had  talked  came  into  his  head,  and  he  smiled.  It  might 
be  a  thousand;  or  two,  three,  four,  at  most  five  thousand. 
A  fortune  !     He  smiled  and  looked  at  her. 

He  found  her  gazing  steadily  at  him,  her  chin  on  her 
hand.  Being  caught,  she  reddened  and  looked  away. 
He  took  the  man's  privilege,  and  continued  to  gaze,  and 
she  to  flush;  and  presently,  '  What  are  you  looking  at?' 
she  said,  moving  uneasily. 

'  A  most  beautiful  face,'  he  answered,  with  the  note  of 
sincerity  in  his  voice  which  a  woman's  ear  never  fails  to 
appreciate. 

She  rose  and  curtsied  low,  perhaps  to  hide  the  tell-tale 
pleasure  in  her  eyes.  'Thank  yon,  sir,'  she  said.  And 
she  drew  back  as  if  she  intended  to  leave  him. 

'  But  you  are  not — you  are  not  offended,  Julia  ?  ' 

'Julia?'  she  answered,  smiling.  'No,  but  I  think  it 
is  time  I  relieved  your  Highness  from  attendance.  For 
one  thing,  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  that  pretty  flattery 
was  addressed  to  Clarissa — or  to  Pamela.  And  for  an- 
other,' she  continued  more  coldl)',  seeing  Sir  George 
wince  under  this  first  stroke — he  was  far  from  having  his 
mind  made  up — '  I  see  Lady  Dunborough  watching  us 
from  the  windows  at  the  corner  of  the  house.  And  I 
would  not  for  worlds  relieve  her  ladyship's  anxiety  by 
seeming  unfaithful  to  her  son.' 


JULIA  133 

'Yon  can  be  spiteful,  then?'  Soane  said,  langliing. 

'I  can — and  grateful,'  she  answered.  'In  proof  of 
which  I  am  going  to  make  a  strange  request,  Sir  George. 
Do  not  misunderstand  it.  And  yet — it  is  only  that  before 
you  leave  here — whatever  be  the  circumstances  nnder 
which  you  leave^you  will  see  me  for  five  minutes.' 

Sir  George  stared,  bowed,  and  muttered  'Too  happy.' 
Then  observing,  or  fancying  he  observed,  that  she  was 
anxious  to  be  rid  of  him,  he  took  his  leave  and  went  into 
the  house. 

For  a  man  who  had  descended  the  stairs  an  hour  before, 
hipped  to  the  last  degree,  with  his  mind  on  a  pistol,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  he  went  up  with  a  light  step; 
albeit,  in  a  mighty  obfuscation,  as  Dr.  Johnson  might 
have  put  it.  A  kinder  smile,  more  honest  eyes  he  swore 
he  had  never  seen,  even  in  a  plain  face.  Her  very  blushes, 
of  which  the  memory  set  his  hlase  blood  dancing  to  a 
faster  time,  were  a  character  in  themselves.  But — he 
wondered.  She  had  made  such  advances,  been  so  friendly, 
dropped  such  hints — lie  wondered.  He  was  fresh  from 
the  masquerades,  from  Mrs.  Cornely's  assemblies.  Lord 
March's  converse,  the  Chudleigh's  fantasies;  the  girl  had 
made  au  appointment — he  wondered. 

For  all  that,  one  thing  was  unmistakable.  Life,  as  he 
went  up  the  stairs,  had  taken  on  another  and  a  brighter 
colour;  was  fuller,  brisker,  more  generous.  From  a  spare 
garret  with  one  poor  casement  it  had  grown  in  an  hour 
into  a  palace,  vague  indeed,  but  full  of  rich  vistas  and 
rosy  distances  and  quivering  delights.  The  corridor  up- 
stairs, which  at  his  going  out  had  filled  him  with  distaste 
— there  were  boots  in  it,  and  water-cans — was  now  the 
Passage  Beautiful;  for  he  might  meet  her  there.  The 
day  which,  when  he  rose,  had  lain  before  him  dull  and 
monotonous — since  Lord  Chatham  was  too  ill  to  see  him, 
and  he  had  no  one  with  whom   to  ijame — was  now  full- 


124  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

furnished  with  interest,  and  liung  with  recollections — 
recollections  of  conscious  eyes  and  the  sweetest  lips  in 
the  world.  In  a  word,  Julia  had  succeeded  in  that  which 
she  had  set  herself  to  do.  Sir  George  might  Avonder. 
He  was  none  the  less  in  love. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A    SPOILED    CHILD 

Julia  was  right  in  fancying  that  she  saw  Lady  Dun- 
borough's  face  at  one  of  the  windows  in  the  south-east 
corner  of  the  house.  Those  windows  commanded  both 
the  Marlborough  High  Street  and  the  Salisbury  road, 
welcomed  alike  the  London  and  the  Salisbury  coach,  over- 
looked the  loungers  at  the  entrance  to  the  town,  and 
supervised  most  details  of  the  incoming  and  outgoing 
worlds.  Lady  Dunborough  had  not  been  up  and  about 
half-an-hour  before  she  remarked  these  advantages.  In 
an  hour  her  ladyship  was  installed  in  that  suite,  which, 
though  in  the  east  wing,  was  commonly  reckoned  to  be 
one  of  the  best  in  the  house.  Heaven  knows  how  she  did 
it.  There  is  a  pertinacity,  shameless  and  violent,  which 
gains  its  ends,  be  the  crowd  between  never  so  dense.  It 
is  possible  that  Mr.  Smith  would  have  ousted  her  had  he 
dared.  It  is  possible  he  had  to  pay  forfeit  to  the  rightful 
tenants,  and  in  private  cursed  her  for  an  old  jade  and  a 
brimstone.  But  when  a  viscountess  sits  herself  down  in 
the  middle  of  a  room  and  declines  to  budge,  she  cannot 
with  decency  be  taken  up  like  a  sack  of  hops  and  dumped 
in  the  passage. 

Her  ladyshiji,  therefore,  won,  and  had  the  pleasure  of 
viewing  from  the  coveted  window  the  scene  between  Julia 
and  Sir  George;  a  scene  which  gave  her  the  profoundest 
satisfaction.  What  she  could  not  see — her  eyes  were  no 
longer  all  that  they  had  been — she  imagined.     In  five 


126  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

minutes  she  had  torn  up  the  last  rag  of  the  girl's  char- 
acter, and  proved  her  as  bad  as  the  worst  woman  that 
ever  rode  down  Cheapside  in  a  cart.  Lady  Dunborough 
was  not  mealy-mouthed,  nor  one  of  those  who  mince 
matters. 

'  What  did  I  tell  you  ? '  she  cried.  '  She  will  be  on 
with  that  stuck-up  before  night,  and  be  gone  with  morn- 
ing.   If  Dunborough  comes  back  he  may  whistle  for  her  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  did  not  doubt  that  her  ladyship  was 
right.  But  he  spoke  with  indifferent  si^irit.  He  had 
had  a  bad  night,  had  lain  anywhere,  and  dressed  no- 
where, and  was  chilly  and  unkempt.  Apart  from  the 
awe  in  which  he  stood  of  her  ladyship,  he  would  have 
returned  to  Oxford  by  the  first  coach  that  morning. 

'  Dear  me  ! '  Lady  Dunborough  announced  presently. 
'  I  declare  he  is  leaving  her  !  Lord,  how  the  slut  ogles 
him  !  She  is  a  shameless  baggage  if  ever  there  was  one; 
and  ruddled  to  the  eyes,  as  I  can  see  from  here.  I  hope 
the  white  may  kill  her  !  Well,  I'll  be  bound  it  won't  be 
long  before  he  is  to  her  again  !  My  fine  gentleman  is  like 
the  rest  of  them — a  damned  impudent  fellow  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  turned  up  his  eyes.  '  There  was  some- 
thing a  little  odd — does  not  your  lady  think  so?' — he 
ventured  to  say,  '  in  her  taking  j^ossession  of  Sir  George's 
rooms  as  she  did.' 

'  Did  I  not  say  so  ?     Did  I  not  say  that  very  thing?  ' 

'  It  seems  to  prove  an  understanding  between  them 
before  they  met  here  last  night. ' 

'  I'll  take  my  oath  on  it  ! '  her  ladyship  cried  with 
energy.  Then  in  a  tone  of  exultation  she  continued, 
'  All  !  here  he  is  again,  as  I  thought  !  And  come  round 
by  the  street  to  mask  the  matter  !  He  has  down  beside 
her  again.  Oh,  he  is  limed,  he  is  limed  ! '  my  lady  con- 
tinued, as  she  searched  for  her  spyiug-glass,  that  she 
might  miss  no  wit  of  the  love-making'. 


A   SPOILED  CHILD  127 

The  tutor  was  all  complacence.  'It  proves  that  your 
ladyship's  stratagem,'  he  said,  'was  to  the  point  last 
night.' 

'  Oh,  Dunborough  will  live  to  thank  me  for  that  ! '  she 
answered.  '  Gadzooks,  he  will!  It  is  first  come  lirst 
served  with  these  madams.  This  will  open  his  eyes  if 
anything  will.' 

'  Still — it  is  to  he  hoped  she  will  leave  before  he  re- 
turns,' Mr.  Thomasson  said,  with  a  slight  shiver  of  antici- 
pation.    He  knew  Mr.  Dunborough 's  temper. 

'Maybe,'  my  lady  answered.     'But  even  if  she  does 

not '     There  she  broke  of,  and  stood  peering  through 

the  window.  And  suddenly,  '  Lord's  sake ! '  she  shrieked, 
'  what  is  this  ?  ' 

The  fury  of  her  tone,  no  less  than  the  expletive — which 
we  have  ventured  to  soften — startled  ]\Ir.  Thomasson  to 
his  feet.  Approaching  the  window  in  trepidation — for 
her  ladyship's  wrath  was  impartial,  and  as  often  alighted 
on  the  wrong  head  as  the  right — the  tutor  saw  that  she 
had  dropped  her  quizzing-glass,  and  was  striving  with 
shaking  hands — but  without  averting  her  eyes  from  the 
scene  outside — to  recover  and  readjust  it.  Curious  as 
well  as  alarmed,  he  drew  up  to  her,  and,  looking  over  her 
shoulder,  discerned  the  seat  and  Julia;  and,  alas  !  seated 
on  the  bench  beside  Julia,  not  Sir  George  Soane,  as  my 
lady's  indifferent  sight,  prompted  by  her  wishes,  had 
persuaded  her,  but  Mr.  Dunborough  ! 

The  tutor  gasped.  '  Oh,  dear  ! '  he  said,  looking 
round,  as  if  for  a  way  of  retreat.  '  This  is — this  is  most 
unfortunate.' 

My  lady  in  her  wrath  did  not  heed  him.  Shaking  her 
fist  at  her  unconscious  son,  'You  rascal!'  she  cried. 
'  You  paltry,  impudent  fellow  !  You  would  tlo  it  before 
my  eyes,  Avould  you?  (Jh,  I  would  like  to  have  the 
brooming  of  you  !     And  that  minx  !     Go  down  you,'  she 


128  THE  CASTLE  INN 

continued,,  turning  fiercely  on  the  trembling,  wretched 
Thomasson — '  go  down  this  instant,  sir,  and — and  inter- 
rupt them  !  Don't  stand  gaping  there,  but  down  to 
them,  booby,  Avithout  the  loss  of  a  moment  !  And  bring 
him  up  before  the  word  is  said.  Bring  him  up,  do  you 
hear  ? ' 

'  Bring  him  up  ? '  said  ^Ir.  Thomasson,  his  breath 
coming  quickly.     '  I  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  you  !     Who  else  ?  ' 

'  I — I — but,  my  dear  lady,  he  is — he  can  be  very  vio- 
lent,' the  unhappy  tutor  faltered,  his  teeth  chattering, 
and  his  cheek  flabby  with  fright.  '  I  have  known  him — 
and  perhaps  it  would  be  better,  considering  my  sacred 
office,  to — to ' 

•  To  what,  craven  ?  '  her  ladyship  cried  furiously. 

'  To  leave  him  awhile — I  mean  to  leave  him  and  pres- 
ently  ' 

Lady  Dunborough's  comment  was  a  swinging  blow, 
which  the  tutor  hardly  avoided  by  springing  back.  Un- 
fortunately this  placed  her  ladyship  between  him  and  the 
door;  and  it  is  ]iot  likely  that  he  would  have  escaped  her 
cane  a  second  time,  if  his  wits,  and  a  slice  of  good  for- 
tune, had  not  come  to  his  assistance.  In  the  midst  of 
his  palpitating  '  There,  there,  my  lady  !  My  dear  good 
lady  I  '  his  tune  changed  on  a  sudden  to  '  See;  they  are 
parting  !  They  are  parting  already.  And — and  I  think 
— I  really  think — indeed,  my  lady,  I  am  sure  that  she 
has  refused  him  !     She  has  not  accepted  him  ?  ' 

'  Eefused  him  ! '  Lady  Dunborough  ejaculated  in  scorn. 
Nevertheless  she  lowered  the  cane  and,  raising  her  glass, 
addressed  herself  to  the  window.  '  Not  accepted  him  ? 
Bosh,  man  ! ' 

'But  if  Sir  George  had  proposed  to  her  before  ? '  the 
tutor  suggested.  '  There — oh,  he  is  coming  in  !  He  has 
— he  has  seen  us. ' 


A   SPOILED   CHILD  129 

It  was  too  true.  Mr.  Duuborougb,  approaching  the 
door  Avith  a  lowering  face,  had  looked  up  as  if  to  see  what 
Avituesses  there  were  to  his  discomfiture.  His  eyes  met 
his  mother's.  She  shook  her  fist  at  him.  'Ay,  he  has,' 
she  said,  her  tone  more  moderate.  '  And,  Lord,  it  mnst 
be  as  yon  say  !  He  is  in  a  fine  temper,  if  I  am  any 
judge.' 

'  I  think,'  said  Mr.  Thomasson,  looking  round,  '  I  had 
better — better  leave — your  ladyshi^i  to  see  him  alone.' 

'  No,'  said  my  lady  firmly. 

'  But— but  jVfr.  Dunborough,'  the  tutor  pleaded,  'may 
like  to  see  you  alone.     Yes,  I  am  snre  I  had  better  go.' 

'No,'  said  my  lady  more  decisively;  and  she  laid  her 
hand  on  the  hapless  tutor's  arm. 

'  But — but  if  your  ladyship  is  afi-aid  of — of  his  vio- 
lence,' Mr.  Tliomasson  stuttered,  'it  will  be  better, 
surely,  for  me  to  call  some — some  of  the  servants.' 

'Afraid?'  Lady  Dunborough  cried,  supi'emely  con- 
temptuous. '  Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  my  own  son  ? 
And  such  a  son  !  A  poor  puppet,'  she  continued,  pur- 
posely raising  her  voice  as  a  step  sounded  outside,  and 
Mr.  Dunborough,  flinging  open  the  door,  appeared  like 
an  angry  Jove  on  the  threshold,  '  who  is  fooled  by  every 
ruddled  woman  he  meets  !  Ay,  sir,  I  mean  you  !  You  ! 
Oh,  I  am  not  to  be  browbeaten,  Dunborough  ! '  she  went 
on;  '  and  I  will  trouble  you  not  to  kick  my  furniture,  you 
unmannerly  puppy.  And  out  or  in  's  no  matter,  but 
shut  the  door  after  you.' 

Mr.  Dunborough  was  understood  to  curse  everybody; 
after  which  he  fell  into  the  chair  that  stood  next  the 
door,  and,  sticking  his  hands  into  his  breeches-pockets, 
glared  at  my  lady,  his  face  flushed  and  sombre. 

'  Hoity-toity  !  are  these  manners  ?  '  said  she.  '  Do  you 
see  this  reverend  gentleman  ?  ' 

'  Ay,  and  G —  d —  him  ! '  cried  Mr.  Dunborough,  with 
9 


130  THE  CASTLE  INN 

a  very  strong  expletive;  'but  I'll  make  him  smart  for  it 
by-aml-by.     You  have  ruined  me  among  you.' 

'  Saved  you,  you  mean/  said  Lady  Dunborougli  with 
complacency,  '  if  you  are  worth  saving — Avhich,  mind  you, 
I  very  much  doubt,  Duuborough.' 

'  If  I  had  seen  her  last  night,'  he  answered,  drawing  a 
long  breath,  '  it  would  have  been  different.  For  that 
I  have  to  thank  you  two.  You  sent  me  to  lie  at  Bath 
and  thought  you  had  got  rid  of  me.  But  I  am  back,  and 
I'll  remember  it,  my  lady  !  I'll  remember  you  too,  3'ou 
lying  sneak  ! ' 

'  You  common,  low  fellow  !  '  said  my  lady. 

'Ay,  talk  away!'  said  he;  and  then  no  more,  but 
stared  at  the  floor  before  him,  his  jaw  set,  and  his  brow 
as  black  as  a  thunder-cloud.  He  Avas  a  powerful  man, 
and,  with  that  face,  a  dangerous  man.  For  he  was  hon- 
estly in  love;  the  love  was  coarse,  brutal,  headlong,  a 
passion  to  curse  the  woman  who  accepted  it;  but  it  was 
not  the  less  love  for  that.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  such 
a  fever  as  fills  the  veins  with  fire  and  drives  a  man  to 
desperate  things;  as  was  proved  by  his  next  words. 

'You  have  ruined  me  among  you,'  he  said,  his  tone 
dull  and  thick,  like  that  of  a  man  in  drink.  'If  I  had 
seen  her  last  night,  tliere  is  no  knowing  but  what  she 
would  have  had  me.  She  would  have  jumped  at  it.  You 
tell  me  why  not  !  But  she  is  different  this  morning. 
There  is  a  change  in  her.  Gad,  my  lady,'  with  a  bitter 
laugh,  '  she  is  as  good  a  lady  as  you,  and  better  !  And 
I'd  have  nsed  her  gently.  Now  I  shall  carry  her  off. 
And  if  she  crosses  me  I  will  wring  her  handsome  neck  ! ' 

It  is  noticeable  that  he  did  not  adduce  any  reason  why 
the  night  had  changed  her.  Only  he  had  got  it  firmly 
into  his  head  that,  but  for  the  delay  they  had  caused,  all 
would  be  well.     Nothing  could  move  him  from  this. 

'  Now  I  shall  run  away  with  her,'  he  repeated. 


A   SPOILED   CHILD  131 

'  She  won't  go  with  you,'  my  lady  cried  with  scorn. 

'  I  sha'n't  ask  her,'  he  answered.  '  When  there  is  no 
choice  she  will  come  to  it.  I  tell  yon  I  shall  carry  her 
off.  And  if  I  am  taken  and  hanged  for  it,  I'll  be  hanged 
at  Papw^orth — before  your  window.' 

'  You  jioor  simpleton  ! '  she  said.  '  Go  home  to  your 
father.' 

'AH  right,  my  lady,' he  answered,  without  lifting  his 
eyes  from  the  carpet.  '  Now  you  know.  It  will  be  your 
doing.  I  shall  force  her  off,  and  if  I  am  taken  and 
hanged  I  will  be  hanged  at  Papworth.  You  took  fine 
pains  last  night,  but  I'll  take  pains  to-day.  If  I  don't 
have  her  I  shall  never  have  a  wife.     But  I  will  have  her.' 

'Fools  cry  for  the  moon,'  said  my  lady.  'Anyway, 
get  out  of  my  room.  You  are  a  fine  talker,  but  I  war- 
rant you  will  take  care  of  your  neck.' 

'  I  shall  carry  her  off  and  marry  her,'  he  repeated,  his 
chin  sunk  on  his  breast,  his  hand  rattling  the  money  in 
his  pocket. 

'  It  is  a  distance  to  Gretna,'  she  answered.  '  You'll  be 
nearer  it  outside  my  door,  my  lad.  So  be  stepping,  will 
you  ?     And  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  go  to  my  lord.' 

'All  right;  you  know,'  he  said  sullenly.  '  For  that 
sneak  there,  if  he  comes  in  my  way,  I'll  break  every  bone 
in  his  body.  Good-day,  my  lady.  When  I  see  you  again 
I  will  have  Miss  with  me.' 

'Like  enough;  but  not  Madam,' she  retorted.  'You 
are  not  such  a  fool  as  that  comes  to.  And  there  is  the 
Act  besides  !  ' 

That  was  her  parting  shot;  for  all  the  feeling  she  had 
shown,  from  the  opening  to  tlie  close  of  the  interview, 
she  might  have  been  his  worst  enemy.  Yet  after  a  fash- 
ion, and  as  a  part  of  herself,  she  did  love  him;  which 
was  proved  by  her  first  words  after  the  door  had  closed 
upon  him. 


133  THE  CASTLE  INN 

"  Lord  !  '  she  said  uneasily.  '  I  hope  he  will  play  no 
Ferrers  tricks,  and  disgrace  us  all.  He  is  a  black  des- 
perate fellow,  is  Dunborough,  when  he  is  roused.' 

The  crestfallen  tutor  could  not  in  a  moment  recover 
himself;  but  he  managed  to  say  that  lie  did  not  think 
Mr.  Dunborough  suspected  Sir  George;  and  that  even  if 
he  did,  the  men  had  fought  once,  in  which  case  there  was 
less  risk  of  a  second  encounter. 

'  You  don't  know  him,'  my  lady  answered,  '  if  you  say 
that.  But  it  is  not  that  I  mean.  He'll  do  some  wild 
thing  about  carrying  her  off.  From  a  boy  he  would  have 
his  toy.  I've  whipped  him  till  the  blood  ran,  and  he's 
gone  to  it.' 

'But  without  her  consent,'  said  Mr.  Thomasson,  'it 
would  not  be  possible.' 

'I  mistrust  him,'  the  viscountess  answered.  'So  do 
you  go  and  find  this  baggage,  and  drop  a  word  to  her — 
to  go  in  company  you  understand.  Lord  !  he  might 
marry  her  that  way  yet.  For  once  away  she  would  have 
to  marry  him — ay,  and  he  to  marry  her  to  save  his  neck. 
And  fine  fools  we  should  look.' 

'  It's — it's  a  most  surprising,  wonderful  thing  she  did 
not  take  him,'  said  the  tutor  thoughtfully. 

'It's  God's  mercy  and  her  madness,'  quoth  the  vis- 
countess piously.  '  She  may  yet.  And  I  would  rather 
give  you  a  bit  of  a  living  to  marry  her — ay,  I  would, 
Thomasson — than  be  saddled  with  such  a  besom  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  cast  a  sickly  glance  at  her  ladyship. 
The  evening  before,  when  the  danger  seemed  imminent, 
she  had  named  two  thousand  pounds  and  a  living.  To- 
night, the  living.  To-morrow — what?  For  the  living 
had  been  promised  all  along  and  in  any  case.  Whereas 
now,  a  remote  and  impossible  contingency  was  attached 
to  it.  Alas  !  the  tutor  saw  very  clearly  that  my  lady's 
promises  were  pie-crust,  made  to  be  broken. 


A   SPOILED  CHILD  133 

She  caught  the  look,  but  attributed  it  to  another  cause. 
'What  do  you  fear,  man?'  she  said.  '  Sho  !  he  is  out 
of  the  house  by  this  time.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  would  not  have  ventured  far  on  that 
assurance,  but  he  had  himself  seen  Mr.  Dunborough  leave 
the  house  and  pass  to  the  stables;  and  anxious  to  escape 
for  a  time  from  his  terrible  patroness,  he  professed  him- 
self ready.  Knowing  where  the  rooms,  which  the  girl's 
party  occupied,  lay,  in  the  west  wing,  he  did  not  call  a 
servant,  but  went  through  the  house  to  them  and  knocked 
at  the  door. 

He  got  no  answer,  so  gently  opened  the  door  and  peeped 
in.  He  discovered  a  pleasant  airy  apartment,  looking  by 
two  windows  over  a  little  grass  plot  that  flanked  the  house 
on  that  side,  and  lay  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  Druid 
mound.  The  room  showed  signs  of  occupancy — a  lady's 
cloak  cast  over  a  chair,  a  great  litter  of  papers  on  the 
table.     But  for  the  moment  it  was  empty. 

He  was  drawing  back,  satisfied  with  his  survey,  when 
he  caught  the  sound  of  a  heavy  tread  in  the  corridor  be- 
hind him.  He  turned;  to  his  horror  he  discerned  Mr. 
Dunborough  striding  towards  him,  a  whip  in  one  hand, 
an(i  in  the  other  a  note;  probably  the  note  was  for  this 
very  room.  At  the  same  moment  Mr.  Dunborough  caught 
sight  of  the  tutor,  and  bore  down  on  him  with  a  view 
halloa.  Mr.  Thomasson's  hair  rose,  his  knees  shook  under 
him,  he  all  but  sank  down  where  he  was.  Fortunately 
at  the  last  moment  his  better  angel  came  to  his  assistance. 
His  hand  was  still  on  the  latch  of  the  door;  to  open  it, 
to  dart  inside,  and  to  shoot  the  bolt  were  the  work  of  a 
second.  Trembling  he  heard  Mr.  Dunborough  come  up 
and  slash  the  door  with  his  whip,  and  then,  contented 
with  this  demonstration,  pass  on,  after  shouting  through 
the  panels  that  the  tutor  need  not  flatter  himself — he 
would  catch  him  by-and-by. 


134  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Mr.  Thomassou  devoutly  hoped  he  would  not;  and, 
sweating  at  every  pore,  sat  down  to  recover  himself. 
Though  all  was  quiet,  ho  suspected  the  enemy  of  lying 
in  wait;  and  rather  than  run  into  his  arms  was  prepared 
to  stay  where  he  was,  at  any  risk  of  discovery  by  the 
occupants.  Or  there  might  be  another  exit.  Going  to 
one  of  the  windows  to  ascertain  this,  he  found  that  there 
was;  an  outside  staircase  of  stone  affording  egress  to  the 
grass  plot.  He  might  go  that  way;  but  no  ! — at  the 
base  of  the  Druid  mound  he  perceived  a  group  of  towns- 
folk and  rustics  staring  at  the  flank  of  the  building — 
staring  apparently  at  him.  He  recoiled;  then  he  remem- 
bered that  Lord  Chatham's  rooms  lay  in  that  wing,  and 
also  looked  over  the  gardens.  Doubtless  the  countryfolk 
were  watching  in  the  hope  that  the  great  man  would  show 
himself  at  a  window,  or  that,  at  the  worst,  they  might 
see  the  crumbs  shaken  from  a  tablecloth  he  had  used. 

This  alone  would  have  deterred  the  tutor  from  a  retreat 
so  public:  besides,  he  saw  something  which  placed  him  at 
his  ease.  Beyond  the  group  of  watchers  he  espied  three 
people  strolling  at  their  leisure,  their  backs  towards  him. 
His  sight  was  better  than  Lady  Dunborough's;  and  he 
had  no  difficulty  in  making  out  the  three  to  be  Jnlia,  her 
mother,  and  the  attorney.  They  were  moving  towards 
the  Bath  road.  Freed  from  the  fear  of  interruption,  he 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  and,  choosing  the  most  comfort- 
able chair,  sat  down  on  it. 

It  chanced  to  stand  by  the  table,  and  on  the  table,  as 
has  been  said,  lay  a  vast  litter  of  papers.  Mr.  Thom- 
asson's  elbow  rested  on  one.  He  went  to  move  it;  in  the 
act  he  read  the  heading:  '  This  is  the  last  will  and  testa- 
ment of  me  Sir  Anthony  Cornelius  Soane,  baronet,  of 
Estcombe  Hall,  in  the  county  of  AVilts.' 

'  Tut-tut  ! '  said  the  tutor.  '  That  is  not  Soane's  will, 
that  is  his  grandfather's.'     And   between  idleness   and 


.1    SPOILED   CHILD  135 

curiosity,  not  uiimingled  with  surjn'iee,  bo  read  the  will 
to  the  end.  Beside  it  lay  three  or  four  narrow  slips;  he 
examined  these,  and  found  them  to  be  extracts  from  a 
register.  Apparently  some  one  was  trying  to  claim  under 
the  will;  but  Mr.  Thomassou  did  not  follow  the  steps  or 
analyse  the  pedigree — his  mind  was  engrossed  by  per- 
plexity on  another  point.  His  thoughts  might  have  been 
summed  up  in  the  lines — 

'  Not  that  tlie  things  themselves  are  rich  or  rare, 
The  wonder's  how  the  devil  they  got  there ' — 

in  a  word,  how  came  the  papers  to  be  in  that  room? 
'  These  must  be  Soane's  rooms,'  he  muttered  at  last,  look- 
ing about  him.  'And  yet — that's  a  woman's  cloak. 
And  that  old  cowskin  bag  is  not  Sir  George's.  It  is  odd. 
Ah  !     What  is  this  ?  ' 

This  was  a  paper,  written  and  folded  brief-wise,  and 
indorsed:  '  Statement  of  the  Claimant's  case  for  the  wor- 
shipful consideration  of  the  Right  Ilononrable  the  Earl 
of  Chatham  and  others  the  trustees  of  the  Estcombe  Hall 
Estate.     Without  Prejudice.' 

'So!'  said  the  tutor.  'This  may  be  intelligible.' 
And  having  assured  himself  by  a  furtive  glance  through 
the  window  that  the  owners  of  the  room  were  not  return- 
ing, he  settled  himself  to  peruse  it.  When  he  again 
looked  up,  which  was  at  a  j^oint  about  one-third  of  the 
way  through  the  document,  his  face  wore  a  look  of  rapt, 
incredulous,  fatuous  astonishment. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    GOOD    j\[AN's    ])ILE:\niA 

Ten  minutes  later  Mr.  Thomasson  slid  back  the  bolt, 
and  opening  the  door,  glanced  furtively  up  and  down 
the  passage.  Seeing  no  one,  he  came  out,  closed  the  door 
behind  him,  and  humming  an  air  from  the  '  Buona  Figli- 
uola,'  which  was  then  the  fashion,  returned  slowly,  and 
with  apparent  deliberation,  to  the  cast  wing.  There  he 
hastened  to  hide  himself  in  a  small  closet  of  a  chamber, 
which  he  had  that  morning  secured  on  the  second  floor, 
and  having  bolted  the  door  behind  him,  he  pkimped  down 
on  the  scanty  bed,  and  stared  at  the  wall.  He  was  the 
prey  of  a  vast  amazement. 

'  Jupiter  ! '  he  muttered  at  last,  '  what  a — a  Pactolns 
I  have  missed  !  Three  months  ago,  two  months  ago,  she 
wonld  have  gone  on  her  knees  to  marry  me  !  And  with 
all  that  money — Lord  !  I  would  have  died  Bishop  of  Ox- 
ford. It  is  monstrons  !  Positively,  I  am  fit  to  kill  my- 
self when  I  think  of  it  ! ' 

He  pansed  awhile  to  roll  the  morsel  on  the  palate  of  his 
imagination,  and  found  that  the  pathos  of  it  almost  moved 
him  to  teai's.  But  before  long  he  fell  from  the  clonds  to 
more  practical  matters.  The  secret  was  his,  bnt  what 
was  he  going  to  do  with  itV  Where  make  his  market  of 
it?  One  by  one  he  considered  all  the  persons  concerned. 
To  begin  with,  there  was  her  ladyship.  But  the  knowl- 
edge did  not  greatly  affect  the  viscountess,  and  he  did  not 
trust  her.     He  dismissed  the  thought  of  applying  to  her. 


A   GOOD  JTAN'S  DILEMMA  i;J7 

It  was  the  same  with  Duiiborough;  money  or  no  money 
was  all  one  to  him,  he  would  take  the  girl  if  he  could  get 
her.  He  was  dismissed  as  equally  hopeless.  Soane  came 
next;  but  Sir  George  either  knew  the  secret,  or  must 
know  it  soon;  and  though  his  was  a  case  the  tutor  pon- 
dered long,  he  discerned  no  profit  he  could  claim  from  him. 
Moreover,  he  had  not  much  stomach  for  driving  a  bargain 
with  the  baronet;  so  in  the  end  Sir  George  too  was  set  aside. 

There  remained  only  the  Buona  Figliuola — the  girl  her- 
self. '  I  might  pay  my  court  to  her,'  the  tutor  thought, 
'but  she  would  have  a  spite  against  me  for  last  night's 
work,  and  I  doubt  I  could  not  do  much.  To  be  sure,  I 
might  put  her  on  her  guard  against  Dunborough,  and 
trust  to  her  gratitude;  but  it  is  ten  to  one  she  would  not 
believe  me.  Or  I  could  let  him  play  his  trick — if  he  is 
fool  enough  to  put  his  neck  in  a  noose — and  step  in  and 
save  her  at  the  last  moment.  Ah  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  con- 
tinued, looking  up  to  the  ceiling  in  a  flabby  ecstasy  of 
appreciation,  '  If  I  had  the  courage!  That  were  a  game 
to  play  indeed,  Frederick  Thomasson! ' 

It  was,  but  it  was  hazardous;  and  the  schemer  rose  and 
walked  the  floor,  striving  to  discover  a  safer  mode  of 
founding  his  claim.  He  found  none,  however;  and  pres- 
entl}%  with  a  wry  face,  he  took  ont  a  letter  which  he  had 
received  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  from  Oxford — a  let- 
ter from  a  dun,  threatening  process  and  arrest.  The 
sum  was  one  which  a  year's  stipend  of  a  fat  living  would 
discharge;  and  until  the  receipt  of  the  letter  the  tutor, 
long  familiar  with  embarrassment,  had  taken  the  matter 
lightly.  But  the  letter  was  to  the  point,  and  meant 
business — a  spunging  house  and  the  Fleet;  and  with  the 
cold  shade  of  the  Rules  in  immediate  ]n-ospect,  Mr. 
Thomasson  saw  himself  at  his  wits'  end.  lie  thought 
and  thought,  and  [)resently  despair  bred  in  liini  a  bas- 
tard courage. 


138  THE   CASTLE  INN 

Buoyed  \\]}  by  this,  he  tried  to  picture  tlie  scene;  the 
lonely  road,  the  carriage,  the  shrieking  girl,  the  ruffians 
looking  fearfully  up  and  down  as  they  strove  to  silence 
her;  and  himself  running  to  the  rescue;  as  Mr.  Burchell 
ran  with  the  big  stick,  in  Mr.  Goldsmith's  novel,  which 
he  had  read  a  few  months  before.  Then  the  struggle. 
He  saw  himself  knocked — well,  jiushed  down;  after  all, 
with  care,  he  might  play  a  fine  jiart  without  much  risk. 
The  men  might  fly  either  at  sight  of  him,  or  when  he 
drew  nearer  and  added  his  shouts  to  the  girl's  cries;  or 
— or  some  one  else  might  come  up,  by  chance  or  sum- 
moned by  the  uproar  !  In  a  minute  it  would  be  over;  in 
a  minute — and  what  a  rich  reward  he  might  reap. 

Nevertheless  he  did  not  feel  sure  he  would  be  able  to 
do  it.  His  heart  thumped,  and  his  smile  grew  sickly, 
and  he  passed  his  tongue  again  and  again  over  his  dry 
lips,  as  he  thought  of  the  venture.  But  do  it  or  not 
when  the  time  came,  he  would  at  least  give  himself  the 
chance.  He  would  attend  the  girl  wherever  she  went, 
dog  her,  watch  her,  hang  on  her  skirts;  so,  if  the  thing 
happened,  he  would  be  at  hand,  and  if  he  had  the  cour- 
age, would  save  her. 

'  It  should — it  should  stand  me  in  a  thousand  !  '  he 
muttered,  wiping  his  damp  brow,  'and  that  Avould  put 
me  on  my  legs.' 

He  put  her  gratitude  at  that;  and  it  was  a  great  sum, 
a  rich  bribe.  He  thought  of  the  money  lovingly,  and  of 
the  feat  with  trembling,  and  took  his  hat  and  unlocked 
his  door  and  went  downstairs.  He  spied  about  him  cau- 
tiously until  he  learned  that  Mr.  Dunborough  had  de- 
parted; then  he  went  boldly  to  the  stables,  and  inquired 
and  found  that  the  gentleman  had  started  for  Bristol  in 
a  post-chaise.  'In  a  middling  black  temper,' the  ostler 
added,  '  saving  your  reverence's  presence.' 

That  ascertained,  the  tutor  needed  no  more.     He  knew 


A    aOOD  3IAN\S  DTLEITMA  139 

that  Duuborough,  ou  his  way  to  foreign  service,  had  lain 
ten  days  in  Bristol,  wliistling  for  a  wind;  that  lie  had 
lauded  there  also  on  his  return,  and  made — on  his  own 
authority — some  queer  friends  there.  Bristol,  too,  was 
the  port  for  the  j^lantations;  a  slave-mart  under  the 
rose,  with  tlie  roughest  of  all  the  English  seatown  popu- 
lations. There  were  houses  at  Bristol  where  crimping  was 
the  least  of  the  crimes  committed;  in  the  docks,  where 
the  great  ships,  laden  with  sugar  and  tobacco,  sailed  in 
and  out  in  their  seasons,  lay  sloops  and  skippers,  ready 
to  cari'y  all  comers,  criminal  and  victim  alike,  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  law.  The  very  name  gave  Mr.  Thomasson 
pause;  he  could  have  done  with  Gretna — which  Lord 
Hardwicke's  Marriage  Act  had  lately  raised  to  import- 
ance— or  Berwick,  or  Harwich,  or  Dover.  But  Bristol 
had  a  grisly  sound.  From  Marlborough  it  lay  no  more 
than  forty  miles  away  by  the  Chippenham  and  Marshfield 
road;  a  post-chaise  and  four  stout  horses  might  cover  the 
distance  in  four  hours. 

He  felt,  as  he  sneaked  into  the  house,  that  the  die  was 
cast.  The  other  intended  to  do  it  then.  And  that 
meant — 'Oh,  Lord,'  he  muttered,  wiping  his  brow,  'I 
shall  never  dare  !  If  he  is  there  himself,  I  shall  never 
dare  !  '  As  he  crawled  upstairs  he  went  hot  one  moment 
and  shivered  the  next;  and  did  not  know  whether  he  was 
glad  or  sorry  that  the  chance  would  be  his  to  take. 

Fortunately,  on  reaching  the  first  floor  he  remembered 
that  Lady  Dunborough  had  requested  him  to  convey  her 
compliments  to  Dr.  Addington,  with  an  inquiry  how 
Lord  Chatham  did.  The  tutor  felt  that  a  commonplace 
interview  of  this  kind  would  settle  his  nerves;  and  having 
learned  the  position  of  Dr.  Addington's  apartraents,he 
found  his  way  down  the  snug  passage  of  which  we  know 
and  knocked  at  the  door.  A  voice,  disagreeably  raised, 
was  speaking  on  the  other  side  of  the  door,  but  paused 


140  THE  CASTLE  INN 

ut  the  sound  of  his  knock.  Some  one  said  '  Come  in,' 
iind  he  entered. 

He  found  Dr.  Addington  standing  on  the  hearth,  stiff 
as  a  poker,  and  swelling  with  dignity.  Facing  him  stood 
Mr.  Fishwick.  The  attorney,  flustered  and  excited,  cast 
a  look  at  Mr.  Thonuisson  as  if  his  entrance  were  an  added 
grievance;  but  that  done,  went  on  with  his  complaint. 

'I  tell  you,  sir,'  he  said,  'I  do  not  understand  this. 
His  lordship  was  able  to  travel  yesterday,  and  last  even- 
ing he  was  well  enough  to  see  Sir  George  Soane.' 

'He  did  not  see  him,'  the  physician  answered  stiffly. 
There  is  no  class  which  extends  less  indulgence  to  an- 
other than  the  higher  grade  of  professional  men  to  the 
lower  grade.  While  to  Sir  George  Mr.  Fishwick  was  an 
odd  little  man,  comic,  and  not  altogether  inestimable,  to 
Dr.  Addington  he  was  an  anathema. 

'I  said  only,  sir,  that  he  was  well  enough  to  see  him,' 
the  lawyer  retorted  querulously.  '  Be  that  as  it  may,  his 
lordship  was  not  seriously  ill  yesterday.  To-day  I  have 
business  of  the  utmost  importance  with  him,  and  am  will- 
ing to  wait  upon  him  at  any  hour.  Nevertheless  you  tell 
me  that  I  cannot  see  him  to-day,  nor  to-morrow ' 

'Nor  in  all  probability  the  next  day,'  the  doctor  an- 
swered grimly. 

Mr.  Fishwick's  voice  rose  almost  to  a  shriek.  '  Nor 
the  next  day  ?  '  he  cried . 

'  No,  nor  the  next  day,  so  far  as  I  can  judge.' 

'  But  I  must  see  him  !  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  must  see  liiin,' 
the  lawyer  ejaculated.  '  I  have  the  most  important  busi- 
ness with  him  ! ' 

'  The  most  important  ?  ' 

'  The  most  important  ! ' 

'  My  dear  sir,'  Dr.  Addington  said,  raising  his  hand 
and  clearly  near  the  end  of  his  patience,  '  my  answer  is 
that  you  shall  see  him — when  he  is  well  enough  to  be 


A    GOOD  JIAN'S  n/LE3niA  141 

seen,  and  cliooses  to  see  you,  and  not  before  !  For  my- 
self, whether  you  see  him  now  or  never  see  him,  is  no 
business  of  mine.  But  it  is  my  business  to  be  sure  that 
liis  lordship  does  not  risk  a  life  which  is  of  inestimable 
value  to  his  country.' 

'  But — but  yesterday  he  was  well  enough  to  travel  ! ' 
murmured  the  lawyer,  somewhat  awed.  '  I — I  do  not 
like  this  ! ' 

The  doctor  looked  at  the  door. 

'  I — I  believe  I  am  being  kept  from  his  lordship  ! ' 
Mr.  Fishwick  persisted,  stuttering  nervously.  'And 
there  are  people  whose  interest  it  is  to  keep  me  from  his 
lordship.  I  warn  you,  sir,  that  if  anything  happens  in 
the  meantime ' 

The  doctor  rang  the  bell. 

'  I  shall  hold  you  responsible  ! '  Mr.  Fishwick  cried 
passionately.  '  I  consider  this  a  most  mysterious  illness. 
I  repeat,  I ' 

But  apparently  that  was  the  last  straw.  '  Mysterious  ?  ' 
the  doctor  cried,  his  face  purple  with  indignation. 
'  Leave  the  room,  sir  !  You  are  not  sane,  sir  !  By  God, 
you  ought  to  be  shut  up,  sir  !  You  ought  not  to  be 
allowed  to  go  about.  Do  you  think  that  you  are  the  only 
person  who  wants  to  see  His  Majesty's  Minister?  Here 
is  a  courier  come  to-day  from  His  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Grafton,  aud  to-morrow  there  will  be  a  score,  and  a  king's 
messenger  from  His  Majesty  among  them — and  all  this 

trouble  is  given  by  a  miserable,   little,  paltry,  petti 

Begone,  sir,  before  I  say  too  much  ! '  he  continued  trem- 
bling with  anger.  And  then  to  the  servant,  'John,  the 
door  !  the  door  !  And  see  that  this  person  does  not 
trouble  me  again.  Be  good  enough  to  communicate  in 
writing,  sir,  if  you  have  anything  to  say.' 

With  which  poor  Mr.  Fishwick  was  hustled  out,  pro- 
testino-  but  not  convinced.     It  is  seldom  the  better  side 


149  THE   CASTLE  INN 

of  liumau  nature  that  lawyers  see;  nor  is  an  attorney's 
office,  or  a  barrister's  cliamber,  the  soil  iu  wliich  a  luxuri- 
ant crop  of  confidence  is  grown.  In  common  Avith  many 
persons  of  warm  feelings,  but  narrow  education,  Mr.  Fish- 
wick  was  ready  to  believe  on  the  smallest  evidence — or  on 
no  evidence  at  all — that  the  rich  and  powerful  were  leagued 
against  his  client;  that  justice,  if  he  were  not  very  sharp, 
would  be  denied  him;  that  the  heavy  purse  had  a  knack 
of  outweighing  the  righteous  cause,  even  in  England  and 
in  the  eighteenth  century.  And  the  fact  that  all  his 
lioj^es  were  staked  on  this  case,  that  all  his  resources  were 
embarked  in  it,  that  it  had  fallen,  as  it  were,  from  heaven 
into  his  hands — wherefore  the  greater  the  pity  if  things 
went  amiss — rendered  him  peculiarly  captious  and  im- 
practicable. After  this  every  day,  nay,  every  hour,  that 
passed  without  bringing  him  to  Lord  Chatham's  presence 
augmented  his  suspense  and  doubled  his  anxiety.  To  be 
put  off,  not  one  day,  but  two  days,  three  days — what 
might  not  happen  in  three  days  ! — was  a  thing  intoler- 
able, insufferable;  a  thing  to  bring  the  heavens  down  in 
pity  on  his  head  !  What  wonder  if  he  rebelled  hourly ; 
and  being  routed,  as  we  have  seen  him  routed,  muttered 
dark  hints  in  Julia's  ear,  and,  snubbed  in  that  quarter 
also,  had  no  resource  but  to  shut  himself  up  in  his  sleep- 
ing-place, and  there  brood  miserably  over  his  suspicions 
and  surmises  ? 

Even  when  the  lapse  of  twenty-four  hours  brought  the 
swarm  of  couriers,  messengers,  and  expresses  which  Dr. 
Addington  had  foretold;  when  the  High  Street  of  Marl- 
borough— a  name  henceforth  written  on  the  page  of  his- 
tory— became  but  a  slowly  moving  line  of  coaches  and 
chariots  bearing  the  select  of  the  county  to  Avait  on  the 
great  Minister;  when  the  little  town  itself  began  to  throb 
with  unusual  life,  and  to  take  on  airs  of  fashion,  by 
reason  of  the  crowd  that  lav  iu  it;    when  the  Duke  of 


A    CWOD  3fAN'S  BILEM3IA  143 

Grafton  himself  was  reported  to  be  but  a  stage  distant, 
and  there  detained  by  the  Earl's  express  refusal  to  see 
him;  when  the  very  KING,  it  was  rumoured,  was  com- 
ing on  the  same  business;  when,  in  a  word,  it  became 
evident  that  the  eyes  of  half  England  were  turned  to  the 
Castle  Inn  at  Marlborough,  where  England's  great  states- 
man lay  helpless,  and  gave  no  sign,  though  the  wheels  of 
state  creaked  and  all  but  stood  still — even  then  Mr.  Fish- 
wick  refused  to  be  satisfied,  declined  to  be  comforted. 
In  place  of  viewing  this  stir  and  bustle,  this  coming  and 
going  as  a  perfect  confirmation  of  Dr.  Addington's  state- 
ment, and  a  proof  of  his  integrity,  he  looked  askance  at 
it.  He  saw  in  it  a  demonstration  of  the  powers  ranked 
against  him  and  the  principalities  he  had  to  combat;  he 
felt,  in  face  of  it,  how  weak,  how  poor,  how  insignificant 
he  was;  and  at  one  time  despaired,  and  at  another  was 
in  a  frenzy,  at  one  time  wearied  Julia  with  prophecies 
of  treachery,  at  another  poured  his  forebodings  into  the 
more  sympathetic  bosom  of  the  elder  woman.  The  reader 
may  laugh;  but  if  he  has  ever  staked  his  all  on  a  cast,  if 
he  has  taken  up  a  hand  of  twelve  trumps,  only  to  hear 
the  ominous  word  '  misdeal  ! '  he  will  find  something  in 
Mr.  Fishwick's  attitude  neither  unnatural  nor  blame- 
worthy. 


CHAPTER   XV 

AMORIS    INTEGRATIO 

During  the  earl}'  days  of  tlie  Minister's  illness,  when, 
as  we  have  seen,  all  the  political  world  of  England  were 
turning  their  coaches  and  six  towards  the  Castle  Inn,  it 
came  to  be  the  custom  for  Julia  to  go  every  morning  to 
the  little  bridge  over  the  Kennet,  thence  to  watch  the 
panorama  of  departures  and  arrivals;  and  for  Sir  George 
to  join  her  there  without  excuse  or  ex^Dlanation,  and  as  if, 
indeed,  nothing  in  the  world  were  more  natural.  As  the 
Earl's  illness  continued  to  detain  all  who  desired  to  see 
him — from  the  Duke  of  Grafton's  parliamentary  secretary 
to  the  hnmblest  aspirant  to  a  tide-waitership — Soane  was 
not  the  only  one  who  had  time  on  his  hands  and  sought 
to  while  it  away  in  the  company  of  the  fair.  The  shades 
of  Preshute  churchyard,  which  lies  in  the  bosom  of  the 
trees,  not  three  bowshots  from  the  Castle  Inn  and  hard 
by  the  Kennet,  formed  the  chosen  haunt  of  one  couple. 
A  second  pair  favoured  a  seat  situate  on  the  west  side  of 
the  Castle  Mound,  and  well  protected  by  shrubs  from  the 
gaze  of  the  vulgar.     And  there  were  others. 

These  Corydons,  however,  were  at  ease;  they  basked 
free  from  care  in  the  smiles  of  their  Celias.  But  Soane, 
in  his  philandering,  had  to  do  with  black  care  that  would 
be  ever  at  his  elbow;  black  care,  that  always  when  he  was 
not  with  Julia,  and  sometimes  while  he  talked  to  her, 
would  jog  his  thoughts,  and  draw  a  veil  before  the  future. 
The  pros[)ect  of  losing  Estcombe,  of  seeing  the  family 


!-'•, 


HE    WOULD    FALL    SILENT    IN   JULIA'S    COMI'ANY 


AMORIS  INTEORATIO  145 

Lares  broken  and  cast  out,  and  the  family  stem,  tender 
and  young,  yet  not  ungracions,  snapped  off  short,  wrung 
a  heart  that  belied  his  cold  exterior.  Moreover,  when  all 
these  had  been  sacrificed,  he  was  his  own  judge  how  far 
he  could  without  means  pursue  the  life  which  he  was  liv- 
ing. Suspense,  anxiety,  sordid  calculation  were  ever 
twitching  his  sleeve,  and  Avould  have  his  attention.  Was 
the  claim  a  valid  claim,  and  must  it  prevail  ?  If  it  jire- 
vailed,  how  was  he  to  live;  and  where,  and  on  what? 
Would  the  Minister  grant  his  suit  for  a  jilace  or  a  pen- 
sion ?  Should  he  prefer  that  suit,  or  might  he  still  by 
one  deep  night  and  one  great  hand  at  hazard  win  back 
the  thirty  thousand  guineas  he  had  lost  in  five  years? 

Such  questions,  troubling  him  whether  he  would  or  no, 
and  forcing  themselves  on  his  attention  when  they  were 
least  welcome,  ruffled  at  last  the  outward  composure  on 
which  as  a  man  of  fashion  he  plumed  himself.  He  Avould 
fall  silent  in  Julia's  company,  aud  turning  his  eyes  from 
her,  in  unworthy  forgetfulness,  would  trace  patterns  in 
the  dust  with  his  cane,  or  stare  by  the  minute  together 
at  the  quiet  stream  that  moved  sluggishly  beneath 
them. 

On  these  occasions  she  made  no  attempt  to  rouse  him. 
Uut  when  he  again  awoke  to  the  world,  to  the  coach  pass- 
ing in  its  cloud  of  dust,  or  the  gaping  urchin,  or  the 
clang  of  the  distant  dinner-bell,  he  would  find  her  con- 
sidering him  with  an  enigmatical  smile,  that  lay  in  the 
region  between  amusement  and  pity;  her  shapely  chin 
resting  on  her  hand,  and  the  lace  falling  from  the  whitest 
wrist  in  the  world.  One  day  the  smile  lasted  so  loug, 
was  so  strange  and  dubious,  and  so  full  of  a  weird  intelli- 
gence, that  it  chilled  him;  it  crept  to  his  bones,  discon- 
certed him,  and  set  him  wondering.  The  uneasy  ques- 
tions that  had  haunted  liim  at  the  first,  recurred.  Why 
was  this  girl  so  facile,  who  had  seemed  so  proud,  and 
10 


146  THE   CASTLE  INK 

whose  full  lips  curved  so  naturally  ?  Was  she  really  won, 
or  was  she  with  some  hidden  motive  only  playing  with 
him  ?  The  notion  was  not  flattering  to  a  fine  gentle- 
man's vanity;  and  in  any  other  case  he  would  have  given 
himself  credit  for  conquest.  But  he  had  discovered  that 
this  girl  was  not  as  other  girls;  and  then  there  was  that 
puzzling  smile.  He  had  surprised  it  half  a  dozen  times 
before. 

'  AVhat  is  it  ?  '  he  said  abruptly,  holding  her  eyes  with 
his.     This  time  he  was  determined  to  clear  up  the  matter. 

'  What  ?  '  she  asked  in  apparent  innocence.  But  she 
coloured^  and  he  saw  that  she  understood. 

'  What  does  your  smile  mean,  Pulcherrima  ?  ' 

'  Only — that  I  was  reading  your  thoughts.  Sir  George,' 
she  answered.     '  And  they  were  not  of  me.' 

'  Impossible  ! '  he  said.     '  I  vow,  Julia ' 

'  Don't  vow,'  she  answered  quickly,  '  or  when  you  vow 
— some  other  time — I  may  not  be  able  to  believe  you  ! 
You  were  not  thinking  of  me,  Sir  George,  but  of  your 
home,  and  the  avenue  of  which  you  told  me,  and  the  elms 
in  which  the  rooks  lived,  and  the  river  in  which  you  used 
to  fish.  You  were  wondering  to  whom  they  would  go, 
and  who  would  possess  them,  and  who  would  be  born  in 
the  room  in  which  you  were  born,  and  who  would  die  in 
the  room  in  which  your  father  died.' 

'  You  are  a  witch  ! '  he  said,  a  spasm  of  pain  crossing 
his  face. 

'Thank  you,'  she  answered,  looking  at  him  over  her 
fan.  '  Last  time  you  said,  "  D — n  the  girl  !  "  It  is  clear 
I  am  improving  your  manners.  Sir  George.  You  are  now 
so  polite,  that  presently  you  will  consult  me.' 

So  she  could  read  his  very  thoughts  !  Could  set  him 
on  the  rack  !  Could  perceive  when  pain  and  not  irrita- 
tion underlay  the  oath  or  the  compliment.  He  was 
always  discovering  something  new  in  her;  something  that 


A3I0RIS  JNTEQRATIO  147 

piqued  his  curiosity,  and  kept  him  amused.  '  Suppose 
I  consult  you  now? '  he  said. 

She  swung  her  fan  to  and  fro,  playing  with  it  child- 
ishly, looking  at  the  light  through  it,  and  again  drop- 
ping it  until  it  hung  from  her  wrist  by  a  ribbon.  '  As 
your  highness  pleases,'  she  said  at  last.  '  Only  I  warn 
you,  that  I  am  not  the  Bottle  Conjuror.' 

'No,  for  you  are  here,  and  he  was  not  there,'  Sir 
George  answered,  affecting  to  speak  in  jest.  '  But  tell 
me;  what  shall  I  do  in  this  case?  A  claim  is  made 
against  me.' 

'It's  the  bomb,'  she  said,  '  that  burst,  Sir  George,  is  it 
not  ? ' 

'  The  same.  The  point  is,  shall  I  resist  the  claim,  or 
shall  I  yield  to  it  ?     What  do  you  say,  ma'am  ?  ' 

She  tossed  up  her  fan  and  caught  it  deftly,  and  looked 
to  him  for  admiration.  Then,  'It  depends,'  she  said. 
'  Is  it  a  large  claim  ?  ' 

'  It  is  a  claim — for  all  I  have,'  he  answered  slowly.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  confessed  that  to  any  one,  except 
to  himself  in  the  night  watches. 

If  he  thought  to  touch  her,  he  succeeded.  If  he  had 
fancied  her  unfeeling  before,  he  did  so  no  longer.  She 
was  red  one  minute  and  pale  the  next,  and  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes.  '  Oh,'  she  cried,  her  breast  heaving,  'you 
should  not  have  told  me  !  Oh,  why  did  you  tell  me?' 
And  she  rose  hurriedly  as  if  to  leave  him;  and  then  sat 
down  again,  the  fan  quivering  in  her  hand. 

'  But  you  said  you  would  advise  me  ! '  he  answered  in 
surprise. 

'  I  !     Oh,  no  !  no  ! '  she  cried. 

'  But  you  must  ! '  he  persisted,  more  deeply  moved  than 
he  would  show.  '  I  want  your  advice.  I  want  to  know 
how  the  case  looks  to  another.  It  is  a  simple  question. 
Shall  I  fight,  Julia,  or  shall  I  yield  to  the  claim  ? ' 


148  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'Fight  or  yield?'  she  said,  her  voice  broken  by  agita- 
tion.    '  Shall  yon  fight  or  yield  ?     Yon  ask  me  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'  Then  fight  !  Fight  ! '  she  answered,  with  snrprising 
emotion:  and  she  rose  again  to  her  feet.  And  again  sat 
down.  '  Fight  them  to  the  last,  Sir  George  ! '  she  cried 
breathlessly.  '  Let  the  creatures  have  nothing  !  Not  a 
penny  !     Not  an  acre  ! ' 

'  But — if  it  is  a  righteous  claim  ?  '  he  said,  amazed  at 
her  excitement. 

'  Eighteons  ?  '  she  answered  passionately.  '  How  can 
a  claim  be  righteous  that  takes  all  that  a  man  has  ?  ' 

He  nodded,  and  studied  the  road  awhile,  thinking  less 
of  her  advice  than  of  the  strange  fervour  with  which  she 
had  given  it.  At  the  end  of  a  minute  he  was  surprised 
to  hear  her  laugh.  He  felt  hurt,  and  looked  up  to  learn 
the  reason;  and  was  astounded  to  find  her  smiling  at  him 
as  lightly  and  gaily  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  to  inter- 
rupt her  most  whimsical  mood;  as  if  the  question  he  had 
put  to  her  had  not  been  put,  or  were  a  farce,  a  jest,  a 
mere  pastime  ! 

'  Sho,  Sir  George,'  she  said,  '  how  silly  you  must  think 
me  to  proffer  you  advice;  and  with  an  air  as  if  the  sky 
were  falling?     Do  you  forgive  me?  ' 

'I  forgive  you  that,''  Sir  George  answered.  But,  poor 
fellow,  he  winced  under  her  sudden  change  of  tone. 

'  That  is  well,'  she  said  confidently.  '  And  there  again, 
do  you  know  you  are  changed ;  you  would  not  have  said 
that  a  week  ago.  I  have  most  certainly  improved  your 
manners.' 

Sir  George  made  an  effort  to  answer  her  in  the  same 
strain.  'Well,  I  should  improve,'  he  said.  'I  come 
very  regularly  to  school.  Do  you  know  how  many  days 
we  have  sat  here,  via  belle  '■!  ' 

A  faint  colour  tinged  her  cheek.     '  If  I  do  not,  that 


AMORIS  INTEGRATK)  149 

dreadful  Mr.  Thoinassou  does,'  she  answered.  '  I  believe 
lie  never  lets  me  go  out  of  his  siglit.  Aud  for  what  you 
say  about  days — what  are  days,  or  even  weeks,  when  it  is 
a  question  of  reforming  a  rake,  Sir  George  ?  Who  was 
it  you  named  to  me  yesterday,'  she  continued  archly,  but 
with  her  eyes  on  the  toe  of  her  shoe  which  projected 
from  her  dress,  '  who  carried  the  gentleman  into  the 
country  when  he  had  lost  I  don't  know  how  numy 
thousand  pounds?  And  kept  him  there  out  of  harm's 
way  ? ' 

'  It  was  Lady  Carlisle,'  Sir  George  answered  drily; 
'and  the  gentleman  was  her  husband.' 

It  was  Julia's  turn  to  draw  figures  in  the  dust  of  the 
roadway,  which  she  did  very  industriously;  and  the  two 
Avere  silent  for  quite  a  long  time,  while  some  one's  heart 
bumped  as  if  it  would  choke  her.  At  length — '  He  was 
not  quite  ruined,  was  he?'  she  said,  with  elaborate  care- 
lessness; her  voice  was  a  little  thick — perhaps  by  reason 
of  the  bumping. 

'  Lord,  no! '  said  Sir  George.     '  And  I  am,  you  see.' 

'  AVhile  I  am  not  your  wife! '  she  answered;  and  flashed 
her  eyes  on  him  in  sudden  jietulance;  and  then,  '  Well, 
perhaps  if  my  hidy  had  her  choice — to  be  wife  to  a  rake 
can  be  no  bed  of  roses.  Sir  George!  While  to  be  wife  to 
a  ruined  rake — perhaps  to  be  Avife  to  a  man  avIio,  if  he 
Avere  not  ruined,  Avould  treat  you  as  the  dirt  beneath  his 
feet,  beneath  his  notice,  beneath ' 

She  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  finish  the  sentence,  but 
rose  choking,  her  face  scarlet.  He  rose  more  slowly. 
'  Lord  ! '  he  said  humbly,  looking  at  her  in  astonishment, 
'what  has  come  to  you  suddenly?  What  has  made  you 
angry  with  me,  child  ?  ' 

'  Child  ?  '  she  exclaimed.  '  Am  I  a  child  ?  Vou  play 
with  me  as  if  I  were  !  ' 

'Play  with  you?'  Sir  George  said,   dumfounded;   he 


150  THE   CASTLE  INN 

was  quite  taken  aback  by  her  sudden  vehemence.  '  Sly 
dear  girl,  I  cannot  understand  you.  I  am  not  playing 
with  you.  If  any  one  is  playing,  it  is  you.  Sometimes — 
I  wonder  whether  you  hate  me  or  love  me.  Sometimes 
I  am  happy  enough  to  think  the  one;  sometimes — I  think 
the  other ' 

'  It  has  never  struck  you,'  she  said,  speaking  with  her 
head  high,  and  in  her  harshest  and  most  scornful  tone, 
'  tliat  I  may  do  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  but  be 
pleased  to  kill  my  time  with  you — since  I  must  stay  here 
until  my  lawyer  has  done  his  business  ?  ' 

'  Oh  ! '  said  Soane,  staring  helplessly  at  the  angry 
beauty,  '  if  that  be  all ' 

'  That  is  all  ! '  she  cried.  '  Do  you  understand  ?  That 
is  all.' 

He  bowed  gravely.  '  Then  I  am  glad  that  I  have  been 
of  use  to  you.     That  at  least,'  he  said. 

'Thank  you,'  she  said  drily.  'I  am  going  into  the 
house  now.     I  need  not  trouble  you  farther.' 

And  SAA'eeping  him  a  curtsey  that  might  have  done 
honour  to  a  duchess,  she  turned  and  sailed  away,  the 
picture  of  disdain.  But  when  her  face  was  safe  from  his 
gaze  and  he  could  no  longer  see  them,  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  of  shame  and  vexation;  she  had  to  bite  her  trem- 
bling lip  to  keep  them  back.  Presently  she  slackened 
her  speed  and  almost  stopped — then  hurried  on,  when 
she  thought  that  she  heard  him  following.  But  he  did 
not  overtake  her,  and  Julia's  step  grew  slow  again,  and 
slower  until  she  reached  the  portico. 

Between  love  and  pride,  hope  and  shame,  she  had  a 
hard  fight;  happily  a  coach  was  unloading,  and  she  could 
stand  and  feign  interest  in  the  passengers.  Two  young 
fellows  fresh  from  Bath  took  fire  at  her  eyes;  but  one 
who  stared  too  markedly  she  withered  with  a  look,  and, 
if  the  truth  be  told,  her  fingers  tingled  for  his  ears.     Her 


A3I0RIS  INTEG RATIO  151 

own  ears  were  on  the  alert,  directed  backwards  like  a 
hare's.  Would  he  never  come  ?  Was  he  really  so  simple, 
so  abominably  stupid,  so  little  versed  in  woman's  ways? 
Or  was  he  playing  with  her  ?  Perhaps,  he  had  gone  into 
the  town  ?  Or  trudged  up  the  Salisbury  road;  if  so,  and 
if  she  did  not  see  him  now,  she  might  not  meet  him  until 
the  next  morning;  and  who  could  say  what  might  happen 
in  the  interval?  True,  he  had  promised  that  he  would 
not  leave  Marlborough  without  seeing  her;  but  things 
had  altered  between  them  since  then. 

At  last — at  last,  when  she  felt  that  her  pride  would 
allow  her  to  stay  no  longer,  and  she  was  on  the  point  of 
going  in,  the  sound  of  liis  step  cut  short  her  misery.  She 
waited,  her  heart  beating  quickly,  to  hear  his  voice  at 
her  elbow.  Presently  she  heard  it,  but  he  was  speaking 
to  another;  to  a  coarse  rough  man,  half  servant  half 
loafer,  who  had  joined  him,  and  was  in  the  act  of  giving 
him  a  note.  Julia,  outwardly  cool,  inwardly  on  tenter- 
hooks, saw  so  much  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  and 
that  the  two,  while  they  spoke,  were  looking  at  her. 
Then  the  man  fell  back,  and  Sir  George,  purposely  avert- 
ing his  gaze  and  walking  like  a  man  heavy  in  thought, 
went  by  her;  he  passed  througli  the  little  crowd  about 
the  coach,  and  was  on  the  point  of  disappearing  through 
the  entrance,  when  she  hurried  after  him  and  called  his 
name. 

He  turned,  between  the  pillars,  and  saw  her.  '  A  word 
with  you,  if  you  please,'  she  said.  Her  tone  was  icy,  her 
manner  freezing. 

Sir  George  bowed.  '  This  way,  if  you  please,'  she  con- 
tinued imperiously;  and  preceded  him  across  the  hall  and 
through  the  opposite  door  and  down  the  steps  to  the  gar- 
dens, that  had  once  been  Lady  Hertford's  delight.  Nor 
did  she  pause  or  look  at  him  until  they  were  half-way 
across  the  lawn;  then  she  turned,  and  with  a  perfect 


153  THE  CASTLE  INN 

change  of  face  aDcl  manner,  smiling  divinely  in  tlie  sun- 
light, 

'Easy  her  motion  seemed,  serene  her  air,' 

she  held  out  her  hand. 

'  You  have  come — to  beg  my  pardon,  I  hope  ?  '  she  said. 

The  smile  she  bestowed  on  him  was  an  April  smile,  the 
brighter  for  the  tears  that  lurked  behind  it;  but  Soane 
did  not  know  that,  nor,  had  he  known  it,  would  it  have 
availed  him.  He  was  utterly  dazzled,  conquered,  subju- 
gated by  her  beauty.  'Willingly,'  he  said.  'But  for 
what  ? ' 

'  Oh,  for — everything  ! '  she  answered  with  su^ireme 
assurance. 

'  I  ask  your  divinity's  pardon  for  everything,'  he  said 
obediently. 

'It  is  granted,'  she  answered.  'And — I  shall  see  you 
to-morrow,  Sir  George  ?  ' 

'To-morrow?'  he  said.  'Alas,  no;  I  shall  be  away 
to-morrow.' 

He  had  eyes;  and  the  startling  fashion  in  which  the 
light  died  out  of  her  face,  and  left  it  grey  and  colourless, 
was  not  lost  on  him.  But  her  voice  remained  steady, 
almost  indifferent.  '  Oh  ! '  she  said,  'you  are  going?' 
And  she  raised  her  eyebrows. 

'  Yes,'  he  answered;  '  I  have  to  go  to  Estcombe. ' 

She  tried  to  force  a  laugh,  but  failed.  'And  you  do 
not  return  ?     We  shall  not  see  you  again  ?  '  she  said. 

'  It  lies  with  you,'  he  answered  slowly.  '  I  am  return- 
ing to-morrow  evening  by  the  Bath  road.  Will  you  come 
and  meet  me,  Julia — say,  as  far  as  the  Manton  turning? 
It's  on  your  favourite  road.  I  know  you  stroll  there  every 
evening.  I  shall  be  there  a  little  after  five.  If  you  come 
to-morrow,  I  shall  know  that,  notwithstanding  your  hard 
words,  you  will  take  in  hand  the  reforming  of  a  rake — 
and  a  ruined  rake,  Julia.     If  you  do  not  come ' 


A3I0RIS  INTEGRATIO  153 

He  hesitated.  She  had  to  turn  away  her  head  that  he 
might  not  see  the  light  that  had  returned  to  her  eyes. 
'  Well,  what  then  ?  '  she  said  softly. 

'  I  do  not  know. ' 

'  But  Lady  Carlisle  was  his  wife, '  she  whispered,  with 
a  swift  sidelong  shot  from  eyes  instantly  averted.  '  And 
— you  remember  what  you  said  to  me — at  Oxford  ?  That 
if  I  were  a  lady,  you  would  make  me  your  wife.  I  am 
not  a  lady.  Sir  George. ' 

'  I  did  not  say  that,'  Sir  George  answered  quickly. 

'  No  !     What  then  ?  ' 

'  You  know  very  well,'  he  retorted  with  malice. 

All  of  her  cheek  and  neck  that  he  could  see  turned 
scarlet.  'Well,  at  any  rate,'  she  said,  'let  us  be  sure 
now  that  you  are  talking  not  to  Clarissa  but  to  Pamela?  ' 

'  I  am  talking  to  neither,'  he  answered  manfully.  And 
he  stood  erect,  his  hat  in  his  hand;  they  were  almost  of 
a  height.  '  I  am  talking  to  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  world,'  he  said,  '  whom  I  also  believe  to  be  the  most 
virtuous — and  whom  I  hope  to  make  my  wife.  Shall  it 
be  so,  Julia? ' 

She  was  trembling  excessively;  she  used  her  fan  that 
he  might  not  see  how  her  hand  shook.  '  I — I  will  tell 
you  to-morrow,'  she  murmured  breathlessly.  '  At  Manton 
Corner, ' 

'  Now  !     Xow  ! '  he  said. 

But  she  cried  'No,  to-morrow,'  and  fled  from  him 
into  the  house,  deaf,  as  she  passed  through  the  hall,  to 
the  clatter  of  dishes  and  the  cries  of  the  Avaiters  and  the 
rattle  of  orders;  for  she  had  the  singing  of  larks  in  her 
ears,  and  her  heart  rose  on  the  throb  of  the  song,  rose 
until  she  felt  that  she  must  either  cry  or  die — of  very 
happiness. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE    BLACK    FAX 

I  BELIEVE  that  Sir  George,  riding  soberly  to  Estcombe 
in  the  morning,  was  not  guiltless  of  looking  back  in 
spirit.  Probably  there  are  few  men  who,  Avhen  the  bind- 
ing word  has  been  said  and  the  final  step  taken,  do  not 
feel  a  revulsion  of  mind,  and  for  a  moment  question  the 
wisdom  of  their  choice.  A  more  beautiful  wife  he  could 
not  wish;  she  was  fair  of  face  and  faultless  in  shape,  as 
beautiful  as  a  Churchill  or  a  Gunning.  And  in  all  hon- 
esty, and  in  spite  of  the  undoubted  advances  she  had 
made  to  him,  he  believed  her  to  be  good  and  virtuous. 
But  her  birth,  her  quality,  or  rather  her  lack  of  quality, 
her  connections,  these  were  things  to  cry  him  pause, 
to  bid  him  reflect;  until  the  thought — mean  and  un- 
worthy, but  not  unnatural — that  he  was  ruined,  and  what 
did  it  matter  whom  he  wedded  ?  came  to  him,  and  he 
tonched  his  horse  with  the  spur  and  cantered  on  by  ujd- 
land,  down  and  clump,  by  Avebury,  and  Yatesbury,  and 
Comptou  Bassett,  until  he  came  to  his  home. 

Returning  in  the  afternoon,  sad  at  starting,  but  less 
sad  with  every  added  mile  that  separated  him  from  the 
house  to  which  he  had  bidden  farewell  in  his  heart — and 
which,  much  as  he  prized  it  now,  he  had  not  visited  twice 
a  year  while  it  was  his — it  was  another  matter.  He 
thought  little  of  the  future;  of  the  past  not  at  all.  The 
present  was  sufficient  for  him.  In  an  hour,  in  half  an 
hour,  in  ten  minutes,  he  would  see  her,  would  hold  her 


THE  BLACK  FAN  155 

hands  in  his,  wouUI  hear  her  say  that  she  loved  him,  would 
look  unreproved  into  the  depths  of  her  proud  eyes,  would 
see  them  sink  before  liis.  Not  a  regret  now  for  White's  ! 
Or  the  gaming  table  !  Or  31  rs.  Cornelys'  and  Betty's  ! 
Gone  the  hlase  iiisouciance  of  St.  James's.  The  whole 
man  was  set  on  his  mistress.  Ruined,  he  had  naught 
but  her  to  look  forward  to,  and  he  hungered  for  lier.  He 
cantered  through  Avebury,  six  miles  short  of  Marlbor- 
ough, and  saw  not  one  house.  Through  West  Kennet, 
where  his  sliadow  went  long  and  thin  before  him;  through 
Fyfield,  where  he  well-nigh  ran  into  a  post-chaise,  Avhicli 
seemed  to  be  in  as  great  a  hurry  to  go  west  as  he  was  to 
go  east;  under  the  Devil's  Den,  and  by  Clatford  cross- 
lanes,  nor  drew  rein  until — as  the  san  sank  finally  behind 
him,  leaving  the  downs  cold  and  grey — he  came  in  sight 
of  Manton  Corner. 

Then,  that  no  look  of  shy  happiness,  no  downward 
quiver  of  the  maiden  eyelids  might  be  lost — for  the  mor- 
sel, now  it  was  within  his  grasp,  was  one  to  linger  over 
and  dwell  on — Sir  George,  his  own  eyes  shining  with 
eagerness,  walked  his  horse  forward,  his  gaze  greedily 
seeking  the  flutter  of  her  kerchief  or  the  welcome  of  her 
hand.  Would  she  be  at  the  meeting  of  the  roads — shrink- 
ing aside  behind  the  bend,  her  eyes  laughing  to  greet 
him  ?  No,  he  saw  as  he  drew  nearer  that  she  was  not 
there.  Then  he  knew  where  she  would  be;  she  would 
be  waiting  for  him  on  the  foot-bridge  in  the  lane,  fifty 
yards  from  the  high-road,  yet  within  sight  of  it.  She 
would  have  her  lover  come  so  far — to  win  her.  The 
subtlety  was  like  her,  and  j)leased  him. 

But  she  was  not  there,  nor  was  she  to  be  seen  else- 
where in  the  lane;  for  this  descended  a  gentle  slope  until 
it  plunged,  still  under  his  eyes,  among  the  thatched  roofs 
and  quaint  cottages  of  the  village,  whence  the  smoke  of 
the  evening  meal   rose  blue  among  the  trees.     Soane's 


156  THE   CASTLE  IXX 

eyes  returned  to  the  main  road;  he  expected  to  hear  her 
laugh,  and  see  her  emerge  at  his  elbow.  But  the  length 
of  the  highway  lay  empty  before,  and  empty  behind;  and 
all  was  silent.  lie  began  to  look  blank.  A  solitary 
house,  Avhich  had  been  an  inn,  but  was  now  unoccupied, 
stood  in  the  angle  formed  by  Manton  Lane  and  the  road ; 
he  scrutinised  it.  The  big  doors  leading  to  the  stable- 
yard  were  ajar;  but  he  looked  in  and  she  was  not  there, 
though  he  noted  that  horses  had  stood  there  lately.  For 
the  rest,  the  honse  was  closed  and  shuttered,  as  he  had 
seen  it  that  morning,  and  every  day  for  days  past. 

Was  it  possible  that  she  had  changed  her  mind  '?  That 
she  had  played  or  was  playing  him  false  ?  His  heart  said 
no.  Xevertheless  he  felt  a  chill  and  a  degree  of  disillu- 
sion as  he  rode  down  the  lane  to  the  foot-bridge;  and 
over  it,  and  on  as  far  as  the  first  house  of  the  village. 
Still  he  saw  nothing  of  her;  and  he  turned.  Riding  back 
his  search  Avas  rewarded  with  a  discovery.  Beside  the 
ditch,  at  the  corner  where  the  road  and  lane  met,  and 
lying  in  such  a  position  that  it  was  not  visible  from  the 
highway,  but  only  from  the  lower  ground  of  the  lane,  lay 
a  jolain  black  fan. 

Sir  George  sprang  down,  picked  it  \\\),  and  saw  that  it 
was  Julia's;  and  still  possessed  by  the  idea  that  she  was 
playing  him  a  trick  he  kissed  it,  and  looked  sharply 
round,  hoping  to  detect  her  laughing  face.  Without 
result;  then  at  last  he  began  to  feel  misgiving.  The  road 
under  the  downs  was  growing  dim  and  shadow}';  the 
ten  minutes  he  had  lingered  had  stolen  away  the  warmth 
and  colour  of  the  day.  The  camjis  and  tree-clumps  stood 
black  on  the  hills,  the  blacker  for  the  creeping  mist  that 
stole  beside  the  river  Avhere  he  stood.  In  another  ten 
minutes  night  Avould  fall  in  the  valley.  Sir  George,  his 
heart  sinking  under  those  vague  and  apparently  fool- 
ish alarms  which  are  among  the  penalties  of  affection, 


THE  BLACK  FAN  157 

mounted  his  horse,  stood  in  his  stirrups,  and  called  her 
name — '  Julia  !  Julia  ! ' — not  loudly,  hut  so  that  if  she 
were  within  fifty  yards  of  him  she  must  hear. 

He  listened.  His  ear  caught  a  confused  babel  of  voices 
in  the  direction  of  Marlborough;  but  only  the  empty 
house,  echoing  'Julia!'  answered  him.  Not  that  he 
waited  long  for  an  answer;  something  in  the  dreary 
aspect  of  the  evening  struck  cold  to  his  heart,  and  touch- 
ing his  horse  with  the  spur,  he  dashed  olf  at  a  hand- 
galloji.  Meeting  the  Bristol  night-wagon  beyond  the 
bend  of  the  road  he  was  by  it  in  a  second.  Xevertheless, 
the  bells  ringing  at  the  horses'  necks,  the  cracking  whips, 
the  tilt  lurching  white  through  the  dusk  somewhat  re- 
assured him.  Eeducing  his  pace,  and  a  little  ashamed 
of  his  fears,  he  entered  the  inn  grounds  by  the  stable 
entrance,  threw  his  reins  to  a  man — who  seemed  to  have 
something  to  say,  but  did  not  say  it — and  walked  off  to 
the  porch.  He  had  been  a  fool  to  entertain  such  fears; 
in  a  minute  he  would  see  Julia. 

Even  as  he  thought  these  thoughts,  he  might  have  seen 
— had  he  looked  that  way — half  a  dozen  men  on  foot  and 
horseback,  bustling  out  with  lanterns  through  the  great 
gates.  Their  voices  reached  him  mellowed  by  distance; 
but  immersed  in  thinking  where  he  should  find  Julia, 
and  what  he  should  say  to  her,  he  crossed  the  roadway 
without  heeding  a  commotion  which  in  such  a  place  was 
not  unusual.  On  the  contrary,  the  long  lighted  front  of 
the  house,  the  hum  of  life  that  rose  from  it,  the  sharp 
voices  of  a  knot  of  men  wlio  stood  a  little  on  one  side, 
arguing  eagerly  and  all  at  once,  went  far  to  dissipate  such 
of  his  fears  as  the  pace  of  his  horse  had  left.  Beyond 
doubt  Julia,  finding  herself  in  solitude,  had  grown 
alarmed  and  had  returned,  fancying  him  late;  j)erhaps 
pouting  because  he  had  not  forestalled  the  time  ! 

But  tlic  moment  he  passed  tlirough  the  doorway  liis  ear 


158  THE   CASTLE  IXX 

caught  that  buzz  of  excited  voices,,  raised  in  all  parts  and 
in  every  ke}',  tliat  betokens  disaster.  And  with  a  sudden 
chill  at  his  heart,,  as  of  a  cold  hand  gripping  it,  he  stood, 
and  looked  down  the  hall.  It  was  well  perhaps  that  he 
had  that  moment  of  preparation,  those  few  seconds  in 
which  to  steady  himself,  before  the  full  sense  of  what  had 
happened  struck  him. 

The  lighted  hall  was  thronged  and  in  an  uproar.  A 
busy  place,  of  much  coming  and  going  it  ever  was.  Now 
the  floor  was  crowded  in  every  part  with  two  or  three 
score  persons,  all  speaking,  gesticulating,  advising  at 
once.  Here  a  dozen  men  were  ])roving  something;  there 
another  group  were  controverting  it;  while  twice  as  many 
listened,  wide-eyed  and  open-mouthed,  or  in  their  turn 
dashed  into  the  babel.  That  something  very  serious  had 
happened  Sir  George  could  not  doubt.  Once  he  caught 
the  name  of  Lord  Chatham,  and  the  statement  that  he 
was  worse,  and  he  fancied  that  that  was  it.  But  the  next 
moment  the  speaker  added  loudly,  '  Oh,  he  cannot  be 
told  !  He  is  not  to  be  told  !  The  doctor  has  gone  to 
him  !  I  tell  you,  he  is  worse  to-day  ! '  And  this,  giving 
the  lie  to  that  idea,  revived  his  fears.  His  eyes  passing 
quickly  over  the  crowd,  looked  everywhere  for  Julia;  he 
found  her  nowhere.  He  touched  the  nearest  man  on  the 
arm,  and  asked  him  what  had  happened. 

The  person  he  addressed  Avas  about  to  reply  when  an 
agitated  figure,  wig  awry,  cravat  loosened,  eyes  staring, 
forced  itself  through  the  crowd,  and,  flinging  itself  on 
Sir  George,  clutched  him  by  the  open  breast  of  his  green 
riding-coat.  It  was  Mr.  Fish  wick,  but  Mr.  Fish  wick 
transfigured  by  a  great  fright,  his  face  grey,  his  cheeks 
trembling.  For  a  moment  such  was  his  excitement  he 
could  not  speak.  Then  'Where  is  she?'  he  stuttered, 
almost  shaking  Sir  George  on  his  feet.  '  What  have  you 
done  with  her,  you — you  villain  ?  ' 


THE  BLACK  FAN  159 

Soaue,  with  misgivings  gnawing  ut  his  lieart,  was  in  no 
patient  mood.  In  a  blaze  of  passion  he  flung  the. attorney 
from  him.  'You  madnum  !  '  he  said;  'what  idiocy  is 
this  •? ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  fell  heavily  against  a  stout  gentleman  in 
splashed  boots  and  an  old-fashioned  liamillies,  who  for- 
tunately for  the  attorney,  blocked  the  way  to  the  wall. 
Even  so  the  shock  was  no  light  one.  But,  breathless  and 
giddy  as  he  was  the  lawyer  returned  instantly  to  the 
charge.  '  I  denounce  you  ! '  he  cried  furiously.  '  I  de- 
nounce this  man  !  You,  and  you,'  he  continued,  appeal- 
ing with  frantic  gestures  to  those  next  him,  '  mark  wdmt 
I  say  !  She  is  the  claimant  to  his  estates — estates  he 
holds  on  sufferance  !  To-morrow  justice  would  have  been 
done,  and  to-night  he  has  kidnapped  her.  All  he  has  is 
hers,  I  tell  you,  and  he  has  kidnapped  her.  I  denounce 
him  !     I ' 

'  What  Bedlam  stuff  is  this  ?  '  Sir  George  cried  hoarsely; 
and  he  looked  round  the  ring  of  curious  starers,  the  sweat 
standing  on  his  brow.  Every  eye  in  the  hall  was  upon 
him,  and  there  was  a  great  silence;  for  the  accusation  to 
Avhich  the  lawyer  gave  tongue  had  been  buzzed  and  bruited 
since  the  first  cry  of  alarm  roused  the  house.  '  What 
stuff  is  this?  '  he  repeated,  his  head  giddy  with  the  sense 
of  that  which  Mr.  Fishwick  had  said.  '  Who — who  is  it 
has  been  kidnapped  ?  Speak  !  D — n  you  !  Will  no  one 
speak  V  ' 

'Your  cousin,'  the  lawyer  answered.  'Your  cousin, 
who  claims ' 

'Softly,  man — softly,'  said  the  landlord,  coming  for- 
ward and  laying  his  hand  on  the  lawyer's  shoulder.  '  And 
we  shall  the  sooner  know  what  to  do.  Briefly,  Sir 
George,'  he  continued,  '  tlie  young  lady  who  has  been  in 
your  company  the  last  day  or  two  was  seized  and  carried 
off  in  a  iiost-chaise  half  an  hour  ago,  as  I  am  told — may- 


IGO  THE   CASTLE  INX 

be  a  little  more — from  Man  ton  Corner.  For  the  rest, 
■\vhicli  this  gentleman  says,  about  who  she  is  and  her 
claim — which  it  does  not  seem  to  me  can  be  true  and 
your  honour  not  know  it — it  is  news  to  me.  But,  as  I 
understand  it.  Sir  George,  he  alleges  that  the  young  lady 
w^ho  has  disappeared  lays  claim  to  your  honour's  estates 
at  Estcombe.' 

'  At  Estcombe  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  sir.' 

Sir  George  did  not  reply,  but  stood  staring  at  the  man, 
his  mind  divided  between  two  thoughts.  The  first  that 
this  was  the  solution  of  the  many  things  that  had  puzzled 
him  in  Julia;  at  once  the  ex^ilanation  of  her  sudden 
amiability,  her  new-born  forwai'dness,  the  mysterious 
fortune  into  which  she  had  come,  and  of  her  education 
and  her  strange  past.  She  was  his  cousin,  the  unknown 
claimant  !     She  was  his  cousin,  and 

He  awoke  with  a  start,  dragged  away  by  the  second 
thought — hard  following  on  the  first.  '  From  Mantou 
Corner  ?  '  he  cried,  his  voice  keen,  his  eye  terrible.  '  Who 
saw  it?  ' 

'  One  of  the  servants,'  the  landlord  answered,  'who  had 
gone  to  the  top  of  the  Mound  to  clean  the  mirrors  in  the 
summer-house.  Here,  you,'  he  continued,  beckoning  to 
a  man  who  limped  forward  reluctantly  from  one  of  the 
side  passages  in  which  he  had  been  standing,  '  show  your- 
self, and  tell  this  gentleman  the  story  you  told  me.' 

'H  it  please  your  honour,'  the  fellow  whimpered,  'it 
was  no  fault  of  mine.  I  ran  down  to  give  the  alarm  as 
soon  as  I  saw  what  was  doing — they  were  forcing  her  into 
the  carriage  then — but  I  was  in  such  a  hurry  I  fell  and 
rolled  to  the  bottom  of  the  Mound,  and  was  that  dazed 
and  shaken  it  was  five  minutes  before  I  could  find  any 
one.' 

'  How  many  were  there '? '  Sir  George  asked.     There 


THE  BLACK  FAN  161 

was  ail  ugly  light  in  his  eyes  and  his  cheeks  burned. 
But  he  spoke  with  calmness. 

'Two  I  saw,  and  there  may  have  been  more.  The 
chaise  had  been  waiting  in  the  yard  of  tlie  empty  house 
at  the  corner,  the  old  Nag's  Head.  I  saw  it  come  out. 
That  was  the  first  thing  I  did  see.     And  then  the  lady.' 

'  Did  she  seem  to  be  unwilling?  '  the  man  in  the  Rani- 
illies  asked.     '  Did  she  scream  ?  ' 

'Ay,  she  screamed  right  enough,'  the  fellow  answered 
lumpishly.  '  I  heard  her,  though  the  noise  came  faint- 
like. It  is  a  good  distance,  your  honour'll  mind,  and 
some  would  not  have  seen  what  I  saw.' 

'  Aud  she  struggled  ?  ' 

'Ay,  sir,  she  did.  They  were  having  a  business  with 
her  when  I  left,  I  can  tell  you.' 

The  j)icture  Avas  too  much  for  Sir  George.  Gripping 
the  landlord's  shoulder  so  fiercely  that  Smith  winced  and 
cried  out,  '  And  you  have  heard  this  man,'  he  said,  '  and 
you  chatter  here  ?  Fools  !  This  is  no  matter  for  words, 
but  for  horses  and  pistols  !  Get  me  a  horse  and  joistols — 
and  tell  my  servant.  Are  you  so  many  dolls?  D — n 
you,  sir  ' — this  to  Mr.  Fishwick — '  stand  out  of  my  way  !  ' 
11 


CHAPTER   XVII 

MR.    FISHWICK,    THE    ARBITER 

Mr.  Fishwick,  who  had  stepped  forward  with  a  vague 
notion  of  detaining  him,  fell  back.  Sir  George's  stern 
aspect,  which  bore  witness  to  the  passions  that  raged  in  a 
heart  at  that  moment  cruelly  divided,  did  not  encourage 
interference;  and  though  one  or  two  muttered,  no  one 
moved.  There  is  little  doubt  that  he  Avould  have  passed 
out  without  delay,  mounted,  and  gone  in  pursuit — with 
Avliat  result  in  the  direction  of  altering  the  issue,  it  is 
impossible  to  state — if  an  obstacle  had  not  been  cast  in 
his  way  by  an  unexpected  hand. 

In  every  crowd,  the  old  proverb  has  it,  there  are 
a  knave  and  a  fool.  Between  Sir  George  bursting 
with  passion,  and  the  door  by  which  he  had  entered 
and  to  which  he  turned,  stood  Lady  Dunborough  Iler 
ladyship  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  hear  the  news 
and  to  take  the  alarm;  it  is  safe  to  say,  also,  that  for 
obvious  reasons — and  setting  aside  the  lawyer  and  Sir 
George — she  w'as  of  all  present  the  person  most  power- 
fully affected  by  the  news  of  the  outrage.  But  she 
had  succeeded  in  concealing  alike  her  fears  and  her 
interest;  she  had  exclaimed  with  others — neither  more 
nor  less;  and  had  hinted,  in  common  with  three-fourths 
of  the  ladies  present,  that  the  minx's  cries  were  forced, 
and  her  honne  fortune  sufficiently  to  her  mind.  In 
a  word  she  had  comported  herself  so  fitly  that  if  there 
was   one   person  in  the  hall   whose   oi^inion   was   likely 


3IR.   FISIIWICK,    THE  ARBITER  1G3 

to  carry  weight,  as  being  coolly  and  impartially  formed, 
it  was  her  ladyship. 

When  she  stepped  forward  therefore,  and  threw  herself 
between  Sir  George  and  the  door — still  more  when,  with 
an  intrepid  gesture,  she  cried  '  Stay,  sir;  we  have  not 
done  with  you  yet,'  there  was  a  sensation.  As  the  crowd 
pressed  up  to  see  and  hoar  what  passed,  her  accusing 
finger  pointed  steadily  to  Sir  George's  breast.  '  What  is 
that  you  have  there  ?  '  she  continued.  '  That  which 
peeps  from  your  breast  pocket,  sir  ?  ' 

Sir  George,  who,  furious  as  he  was,  could  go  no  farther 
without  coming  in  contact  with  her  ladyship,  smothered 
an  oath.     'Madam,'  he  said,  'let  me  joass.' 

'  Xot  until  you  explain  how  you  came  by  that  fan,' 
she  answefed  sturdily;  and  held  her  ground. 

'  Fan  ?  '  he  cried  savagely.     '  What  fan  ?  ' 

Unfortunately  the  passions  that  had  swejit  through 
his  mind  during  the  last  few  minutes,  the  discovery  he 
had  made,  and  the  flood  of  pity  that  would  let  him  think 
of  nothing  but  the  girl — the  girl  carried  away  screaming 
and  helpless,  a  prey  to  he  knew  not  whom — left  in  his 
mind  scant  room  for  trifles.  He  had  clean  forgotten  the 
fan.  But  the  crowd  gave  him  no  credit  for  this;  and 
some  murmured,  and  some  exchanged  glances,  when 
he  asked  '  What  fan  ? '  Still  more  when  my  lady  re- 
joined, '  The  fan  in  your  breast,'  and  drew  it  out  and  all 
saw  it,  was  there  a  plain  and  general  feeling  against 
him. 

Unheeding,  he  stared  at  the  fan  with  grief-stricken 
eyes.  '  I  picked  it  up  in  the  road,'  he  muttered,  as  much 
to  himself  as  to  them. 

'  It  is  hers  ?  ' 

'  Yes,'  he  said,  holding  it  reverently.  '  Slie  must  have 
dropped  it — in  the  struggle  ! '  And  then  '  My  God  ! ' 
he  continued  fiercely,  the  sight  of  the  fan  bringing  the 


164  THE  CASTLE  INN 

tnitli  more  vividly  before  him,  '  Let  me  pass  !  Or  I  shall 
be  doing  some  one  a  mischief  !  Madam,  let  me  pass,  I 
say  ! ' 

His  tone  was  such  that  an  ordinary  woman  must  have 
given  way  to  him;  but  the  viscountess  had  her  reasons 
for  being  staunch.  'No,'  she  said  stoutly,  'not  until 
these  gentlemen  have  heard  more.  You  have  her  fan, 
which  she  took  out  an  hour  ago.  She  went  to  meet  you 
— that  we  know  from  this  person ' — she  indicated  Mr. 
Fishwick;  '  and  to  meet  you  at  your  request.  The  time, 
at  sunset,  the  place,  the  corner  of  Manton  Lane.  And 
what  is  the  upshot  ?  At  that  corner,  at  sunset,  i^ersons 
and  a  carriage  were  waiting  to  carry  her  ofE.  Who  besides 
you  knew  that  she  would  be  there  ?  '  Lady  Dunborough 
continued,  driving  home  the  point  with  her  finger.  '  Who 
besides  you  knew  the  time?  And  that  being  so,  as  soon 
as  they  are  safely  away  with  her,  you  walk  in  here  with 
an  innocent  face  and  her  fan  in  your  pocket,  and  know 
naught  about  it  !  For  shame  !  for  shame  !  Sir  George  ! 
You  will  have  us  think  we  see  the  Cock  Lane  Ghost  next. 
For  my  part,'  her  ladyship  continued  ironically,  '  I  would 
as  soon  believe  in  the  rabbit- woman.' 

'Let  me  pass,  madam,'  Sir  George  cried  between  his 
teeth.     '  If  you  were  not  a  woman ' 

'  You  would  do  something  dreadful,'  Lady  Dunborough 
answered  mockingly.  '  Nevertheless,  I  shall  be  much 
mistaken,  sir,  if  some  of  these  gentlemen  have  not  a  word 
to  say  in  the  matter.' 

Her  ladyship's  glance  fell,  as  she  spoke,  on  the  stout 
red-faced  gentleman  in  the  splashed  boots  and  Eamillies, 
who  had  asked  two  questions  of  the  servant;  and  who,  to 
judge  by  the  attention  with  which  he  followed  my  lady's 
words,  was  not  proof  against  the  charm  which  invests  a 
viscountess.  If  she  looked  at  him  with  intention,  she 
reckoned  well;  for,  as  neatly  as  if  the  matter  had  been 


31 R.    FISIIWICK,    THE  ARBITER  1G5 

coucerted  between  them,  he  stepped  forward  and  took  up 
the  ball. 

'  Sir  George,'  he  said,  puffing  out  his  cheeks,  '  her 
ladyship  is  quite  right.  I — I  am  sorry  to  interfere,  but 
you  know  me,  and  what  my  position  is  on  the  Rota.  And 
I  do  not  think  I  can  stand  by  any  longer — which  might 
be  adit  (ere re  culpm.  This  is  a  serious  case,  and  I  doubt 
I  shall  not  be  justified  in  allowing  you  to  depart  without 
some  more  definite  explanation.  Abduction,  you  know, 
is  not  bailable.  You  are  a  Justice  yourself.  Sir  George, 
and  must  know  that.  If  this  person  therefore — who  I 
understand  is  an  attorney — desires  to  lay  a  sworn  in- 
formation, I  must  take  it.' 

'  In  heaven's  name,  sir,'  Soane  cried  desperately,  '  take 
it  !     Take  what  you  please,  but  let  me  take  the  road.' 

'  Ah,  but  that  is  what  I  doubt,  sir,  I  cannot  do,'  the 
Justice  answered.  '  Mark  you,  there  is  motive.  Sir  George, 
and  prcescntia  in  loco,''  he  continued,  swelling  with  his 
own  learning.  '  And  you  have  a  partem  delicti  on  you. 
And,  moreover,  abduction  is  a  special  kind  of  case,  seeing 
that  if  the  pai'ticipes  crimiiiis  are  free  the  fenime  sole, 
sometimes  called  the  femina  capta,  is  in  greater  danger. 
In  fact,  it  is  a  continuing  crime.  An  information  being 
sworn  therefore ' 

'  It  has  not  been  sworn  yet  ! '  Sir  George  retorted 
fiercely.  '  And  I  warn  you  that  any  one  who  lays  a  hand 
on  me  shall  rue  it.  God,  man  ! '  he  continued,  horror  in 
his  voice,  '  cannot  you  understand  that  while  you  prate  here 
they  are  carrying  her  off,  and  that  time  is  everything  ? ' 

'Some  persons  have  gone  in  pursuit,'  the  landlord 
answered  with  intent  to  soothe. 

'  Just  so;  some  persons  have  gone  in  })ursuit,'  the  Jus- 
tice echoed  with  dull  satisfaction.  '  And  you,  if  you 
went,  could  do  no  more  than  they  can  do.  Besides,  Sir 
George,  the  law  must  be  obeyed.     The  sole  point  is  ' — he 


IGG  THE  CASTLE  IXX 

turned  to  Mr.  Fishwick,  who  through  all  had  stood  b}-, 
his  face  distorted  by  grief  and  perplexit}' — '  do  you  wish, 
sir,  to  swear  the  information?' 

Mrs.  Masterson  had  fainted  at  the  first  alarm  and  been 
carried  to  her  room.  Apart  from  her,  it  is  probable  that 
only  Sir  George  and  Mr.  Fishwick  really  entered  into  the 
horror  of  the  girl's  position,  realised  the  possible  value 
of  minutes,  or  felt  genuine  and  poignant  grief  at  what 
had  occurred.  On  the  decision  of  one  of  these  two  the 
freedom  of  the  other  now  depended,  and  the  conclusion 
seemed  foregone.  Ten  minutes  earlier  Mr.  Fishwick, 
carried  away  by  the  first  sight  of  Sir  George,  and  by  the 
rage  of  an  honest  man  who  saw  a  helpless  woman  ruined, 
had  been  violent  enough;  Soane's  j^ossession  of  the  fan — 
not  then  known  to  him — was  calculated  to  corroborate  his 
suspicions.  The  Justice  in  appealing  to  him  felt  sure 
of  support;  and  was  much  astonished  when  Mr.  Fish- 
wick, in  place  of  assenting,  passed  his  hand  across  his 
brow,  and  stared  at  the  speaker  as  if  he  had  suddenly  lost 
the  power  of  speech. 

In  truth,  the  lawyer,  harried  by  the  exjiectant  gaze  of 
the  room,  and  the  Justice's  im2:)atience,  was  divided  be- 
tween a  natural  generosity,  which  was  one  of  his  oddities, 
and  a  suspicion  born  of  his  profession.  He  liked  Sir 
George;  his  smaller  manhood  went  out  in  admiration  to 
the  other's  splendid  personality.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
had  viewed  Soane's  approaches  to  his  client  with  mis- 
giving. He  had  scented  a  trap  here  and  a  bait  there, 
and  a  dozen  times,  while  dwelling  on  Dr.  Addington's 
postponements  and  delays,  he  had  accused  the  two  of 
collusion  and  of  some  deep-laid  chicanery.  Between  these 
feelings  he  had  now  to  decide,  and  to  decide  in  such  a 
tumult  of  anxiety  and  dismay  as  almost  deprived  him  of 
the  power  to  think. 

On  the  one  hand,  the  evidence  and  inferences  against 


J/7?.    FISH  WICK,    THE  ARBITER  167 

Sir  George  pressed  liim  strongly.  On  the  other,  he  had 
seen  enough  of  the  futile  haste  of  the  ostlers  and  stable- 
helps,  who  had  gone  in  jnirsnit,  to  hope  little  from  them; 
while  from  Sir  George,  Avere  he  honest,  everything  was 
to  be  exjjected.  In  his  final  decision  we  may  believe  what 
he  said  afterwards,  that  he  was  determined  by  neither  of 
these  considerations,  but  by  his  old  dislike  of  Lady  Dun- 
borough  !  For  after  a  long  silence,  during  which  he 
seemed  to  be  a  dozen  times  on  the  point  of  speaking  and 
as  often  disappointed  his  audience,  he  announced  his 
determination  in  that  sense.  '  Xo,  sir;  I — I  will  not  !  ' 
he  stammered,  'or  rather  I  will  not — on  a  condition.' 

'  Condition  ! '  the  Justice  growled,  in  disgust. 

'  Yes,'  the  lawyer  answered  staunchly  ; '  that  Sir  George, 
if  he  be  going  in  pursuit  of  them,  permit  me  to  go  with 
him.  I— I  can  ride,  or  at  least  I  can  sit  on  a  horse,'  Mr. 
Fish  wick  continued  bravely;  'and  I  am  ready  to  go.' 

'  Oh,  la  ! '  said  Lady  Dunborough,  spitting  on  the  floor 
— for  there  were  ladies  who  did  such  things  in  those  days 
— 'I  think  they  are  all  in  it  together.  And  the  fair 
cousin  too  !  Cousin  be  hanged  ! '  she  added  with  a  shrill 
ill-natured  laugh;  '  I  have  heard  that  before.' 

But  Sir  George  took  no  notice  of  her  words.  '  Come, 
if  you  choose,'  he  cried,  addressing  the  lawyer.  '  But  I 
do  not  wait  for  you.  And  now,  madam,  if  your  inter- 
ference is  at  an  end ' 

'And  what  if  it  is  not?'  she  cried,  insolently  grimac- 
ing in  his  face.  She  had  gained  half  an  hour,  and  it 
might  save  her  son.  To  persist  farther  might  betray 
him,  yet  she  was  loth  to  give  way.  '  What  if  it  is  not  ? ' 
she  repeated. 

'I  go  out  by  the  other  door,'  Sir  George  answered 
l)rom})tly,  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  turned 
on  his  heel,  strode  through  the  crowd,  which  sul)serviently 
made   way  for  him,  and   in   a  twinkling  he  had  passed 


168  THE   CASTLE  INN 

through  the  garden  door,  with  Mr.  Fishwick,  hut  in  hand, 
hurrying  at  his  heels. 

The  moment  they  were  gone,  the  babel,  sui^pressed 
while  the  altercation  lasted,  rose  again,  loud  as  before. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  the  busiest  inn  or  the  most  experi- 
enced traveller  has  to  do  with  an  elopement,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  an  abduction.  While  a  large  section  of  the  ladies, 
seated  together  in  a  corner,  tee-liee'd  and  tossed  their 
heads,  sneered  at  Miss  and  her  screams,  and  warranted 
she  knew  all  about  it,  and  had  her  jacket  and  night-rail  in 
her  pocket,  another  party  laid  all  to  Sir  George,  swore  by 
the  viscountess,  and  quoted  the  masked  uncle  who  made 
away  with  his  nej^hew  to  get  his  estate.  One  or  two 
indeed — and,  if  the  chi'onicler  is  to  be  candid,  one  or 
two  only,  out  of  as  many  scores — proved  that  they  pos- 
sessed both  imagination  and  charity.  These  sat  ajiart, 
scared  and  affrighted  by  their  thoughts;  or  stared  with 
set  eyes  and  flushed  faces  on  the  picture  they  would  fain 
have  avoided.  But  they  were  young  and  had  seen  little 
of  the  world. 

On  their  part  the  men  talked  fast  and  loud,  at  one 
time  laughed,  and  at  another  dropped  a  curse — their  form 
of  pity;  quoted  the  route  and  the  inns,  and  weighed  the 
chances  of  Devizes  or  Bath,  Bristol  or  Salisbury;  vaguely 
suggested  highwaymen,  an  old  lover,  Mrs.  Cornelys' 
ballet;  and  finally  trooped  out  to  stand  in  the  road  and 
listen,  question  the  passers-by,  and  hear  what  the  parish 
constable  had  to  say  of  it.  All  except  one  very  old  man, 
who  kept  his  seat  and  from  time  to  time  muttered,  '  Lord, 
what  a  shape  she  had  !  AVhat  a  shape  she  had  ! '  until 
he  dissolved  in  nuiudlin  tears. 

]\reanwhile  a  woman  lay  upstairs,  tossing  in  joassionate 
grief  and  tended  by  servants;  who,  more  pitiful  than 
their  mistresses,  stole  to  her  to  comfort  her.  And  throe 
men  rode  steadily  along  the  western  road. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    PURSUIT 

The  attorney  was  brave  with  a  coward's  great  bravery; 
he  was  afraid,  but  he  went  on.  As  he  climbed  into  his 
saddle  in  the  stable-yard,  the  muttering  ostlers  standing 
round,  and  the  yellow-flaring  light  of  the  lanthorns 
stretching  fingers  into  the  darkness,  he  could  have  wept 
for  himself.  Beyond  the  gates  and  the  immediate  bustle 
of  the  yard  lay  night,  the  road,  and  dimly-guessed  vio- 
lences; the  meetiug  of  man  with  man,  the  rush  to  grips 
under  some  dark  wood,  or  where  the  moonlight  fell  cold 
on  the  heath.  The  prospect  terrified ;  at  the  mere  thought 
the  lawyer  dropped  the  reins  and  nervously  gathered  them. 
And  he  had  another  fear,  and  one  more  immediate.  He 
was  no  horseman,  and  he  trembled  lest  Sir  George,  the 
moment  the  gates  were  passed,  should  go  off  in  a  reckless 
gallop.  Already  he  felt  his  horse  heave  and  sidle  under 
him,  in  a  fashion  that  brought  his  heart  into  his  mouth; 
and  he  was  ready  to  cry  for  quarter.  But  the  absurdity 
of  the  request  where  time  was  everytliing,  the  journey 
black  earnest,  and  its  issue  life  and  death,  struck  him, 
and  heroically  he  closed  his  mouth.  Yet,  at  the  remem- 
brance that  these  things  were,  he  fell  into  a  fresh  panic. 
However,  for  a  time  there  was  to  be  no  galloping.  Sir 
George  when  all  were  up  took  a  lanthoru  from  the  near- 
est man,  and  bidding  one  of  the  others  run  at  his  stirrup, 
led  the  way  into  the  road,  where  he  fell  into  a  sharj[)  trot, 
his  servant  and  Mr.  I^ishwick  following.     The  attorney 


170  THE   CASTLE  INN 

buuiped  in  his  saddle,  but  kept  his  stirrups  and  gradually 
found  his  hands  and  eyesight.  The  trot  brought  them 
to  Mantoii  Corner  and  the  empty  house;  where  Sir  George 
pulled  up  and  dismounted.  Giv^ing  his  reins  to  the  stable- 
boy,  he  thrust  open  the  doors  of  the  yard  and  entered, 
holding  up  his  lanthorn,  his  spurs  clinking  on  the  stones 
and  his  skirts  swaying. 

'  But  she — they  cannot  be  here  ?  '  the  lawyer  ejaculated, 
his  teeth  chattering. 

Sir  George,  busy  stooping  and  peering  about  the  yard, 
which  was  grass-grown  and  surrounded  by  walls,  made 
uo  answer;  and  the  other  two,  as  well  as  Mr.  Fishwick, 
wondered  what  he  Avould  be  at.  But  in  a  moment  they 
knew.  He  stooped  and  took  up  a  small  object,  smelt  it, 
and  held  it  out  to  them.  'What  is  that?'  he  asked 
curtly. 

The  stable-man  who  was  holding  his  horse  stared  at  it. 
'Negro-head,  your  honour,'  he  said.  '  It  is  sailors' to- 
bacco.' 

'  Who  uses  it  about  here  ?  ' 

'  Nobody  to  my  knowing.' 

'They  are  from  Bristol,  then,'  Soane  answered.  And 
then  '  j\[ake  way  ! '  he  continued,  addressing  the  other 
two  Avho  blocked  the  gateway;  and  springing  into  his 
saddle  he  pressed  his  horse  between  them,  his  stirrups 
dangling.  He  turned  sharp  to  the  left,  and  leaving  the 
stable-man  to  stare  after  them,  the  lanthorn  swaying  in 
his  hand,  he  led  the  way  westward  at  the  same  steady  trot. 

The  chase  had  begun.  More  than  that,  Mr.  Fishwick 
was  beginning  to  feel  the  excitement  of  it;  the  ring  of 
the  horses'  shoes  on  the  hard  road,  the  rush  of  the  night 
air  past  his  ears  exhilarated  him.  He  began  to  feel  con- 
fidence in  his  leader,  iind  confidence  breeds  courage. 
Bristol  ?  Then  Bristol  let  it  be.  And  then  on  top  of 
this,  his  spirits  being  more  composed,  came  a  rush  of  rage 


THE  PURSUIT  171 

aud  indignation  at  tliouglit  of  the  girl.  The  lawyer 
clutched  his  whip,  and,  reckless  of  consequences,  dug  his 
heels  into  his  horse,  and  for  the  moment,  in  the  heat  of 
his  wrath,  longed  to  be  up  with  the  villains,  to  strike  a 
blow  at  them.  If  his  courage  lasted,  Mr.  Fishwick  might 
show  them  a  man  yet — when  the  time  came  ! 

Trot-trot,  trot-trot  through  the  darkness  under  the 
stars,  the  trees  black  masses  that  shot  up  beside  the  road 
and  vanished  as  soon  as  seen,  the  downs  grey  misty  out- 
lines that  continually  fenced  them  in  and  went  with 
them;  and  always  in  the  van  Sir  George,  a  grim  silent 
shape  with  face  set  immovably  forward.  They  worked 
up  Fyfield  hill,  and  thence,  looking  back,  bade  farewell 
to  the  faint  light  that  hung  above  Marlborough.  Drop- 
ping into  the  bottom  they  cluntered  over  the  wooden 
bridge  and  by  Overton  steeple — a  dim  outline  on  the  left 
— and  cantering  up  Avebury  hill  eased  their  horses  through 
Little  Kennet.  Gathering  speed  again  they  swept  through 
Beckhampton  village,  where  the  Bath  road  falls  off  to  the 
left,  and  breasting  the  high  downs  towards  Yatesbury, 
they  trotted  on  to  Cheril. 

Here  on  the  hills  the  sky  hung  low  overhead,  and  the 
wind  sweeping  chill  and  drear  across  the  upland  Avas  full 
of  a  melancholy  soughing.  The  world,  it  seemed  to  one 
of  them,  was  uncreate,  gone,  and  non-existent;  only  this 
remained — the  shadowy  downs  stretching  on  every  side 
to  infinity,  and  three  shadowy  riders  plodding  across 
them;  all  shadowy,  all  unreal  until  a  bell-wether  got  up 
under  the  horses'  heads,  and  with  a  confused  rush  and 
scurry  of  feet  a  hundred  South  downs  scampered  into  the 
grey  unknown. 

Mr.  Fishwick  found  it  terrible,  rugged,  wild,  a  night 
foray.  His  heart  began  to  sink  again.  He  was  sore  too, 
sweating,  and  fit  to  drop  from  his  saddle  with  the  un- 
wonted exertion. 


172  THE   CASTLE  INX 

And  what  of  Sir  George,  hurled  suddenlj^  out  of  his 
age  aud  world — the  age  cles  philosophes,  and  the  smooth 
world  of  White's  aiul  Lord  ^March — into  this  quagmire  of 
feeling,  this  night  of  struggle  ujion  the  AViltsliiro  downs? 
A  few  hours  earlier  he  had  ridden  the  same  road,  and  the 
prize  he  now  stood  in  danger  of  losing  had  seemed — God 
forgive  him  ! — of  doubtful  value.  ISTow,  as  he  thought 
of  her,  his  heart  melted  in  a  fire  of  love  aud  pity:  of  love 
that  conjured  up  a  thousand  pictures  of  her  eyes,  her 
lijjs,  her  smile,  her  shape — all  joresently  dashed  by  night 
and  reality;  of  pity  that  swelled  his  breast  to  bursting, 
set  his  eyes  burning  and  his  brain  throbbing — a  pity  near 
akin  to  rage. 

Even  so,  he  would  uot  allow  himself  to  dwell  on  the 
worst.  He  had  formed  his  opinion  of  the  abduction;  if 
it  jiroved  correct  he  believed  that  he  should  be  in  time  to 
save  her  from  that.  But  from  the  misery  of  suspense,  of 
fear,  of  humiliation,  from  the  touch  of  rough  hands  aud 
the  shame  of  coarse  eyes,  from  these  things — aud  alone 
they  kindled  his  blood  into  flame — he  was  powerless  to 
save  her  ! 

Lady  Dunborough  could  no  longer  have  accused  him  of 
airs  and  graces.  Breeding,  habit,  the  custom  of  the 
gaming-table,  the  ju-ide  of  caste  availed  to  mask  his  pas- 
sions under  a  veil  of  reserve,  but  were  powerless  to  quell 
them.  What  was  more  remarkable,  so  set  was  he  on  the 
one  object  of  recovering  his  mistress  aud  putting  an  end 
to  the  state  of  terror  in  which  he  pictured  her — ignorant 
what  her  fate  Avould  be,  aud  dreading  the  worst — he  gave 
hardly  a  thought  to  the  astounding  discovery  which  the 
lawyer  had  made  to  him.  He  asked  him  no  questions, 
turned  to  him  for  no  explanations.  Those  might  come 
later;  for  the  moment  he  thought  not  of  his  cousiu,  but 
of  his  mistress.  The  smiles  that  had  brightened  the  dull 
passages  of  the  inn,  the  figure  that  had  glorified  the  quiet 


THE  PURSUIT  173 

streets,  the  eyes  that  had  now  invited  and  now  repelled 
him,  these  were  become  so  many  sharp  thorns  in  his 
heart,  so  many  goads  urging  him  onward. 

It  was  nine  Avhen  they  saw  the  lights  of  Calne  below 
them,  and  trotting  and  stumbling  down  the  hill,  clattered 
eagerly  into  the  town.  A  moment's  delay  in  front  of  the 
inn,  where  their  questions  speedily  gathered  a  crowd,  and 
they  had  news  of  the  chaise :  it  had  passed  through  the 
town  two  hours  before  without  changing  horses.  The 
canvas  blinds  were  down  or  there  were  shutters;  which, 
the  ostler  who  gave  them  the  information,  could  not  say. 
But  the  fact  that  the  carriage  was  closed  had  struck  him, 
and  together  with  the  omission  to  take  fresh  horses,  had 
awakened  his  suspicions. 

By  the  time  this  was  told  a  dozen  were  round  them, 
listening  open-mouthed;  and  cheered  by  the  lights  and 
company  Mr.  Fishwick  grew  brave  again.  But  Sir  George 
allowed  no  respite:  in  five  minutes  they  were  clear  of  the 
houses  and  riding  hard  for  Chippenham,  the  next  stage 
on  the  Bristol  road;  Sir  George's  horse  cantering  free, 
the  lawyer's  groaning  as  it  bumped  across  Studley  bridge 
and  its  rider  caught  the  pale  gleam  of  the  water  below. 
On  through  the  village  they  swept,  joast  Brumhill  Lane- 
end,  thence  over  the  crest  where  the  road  branches  south 
to  Devizes,  and  down  the  last  slope.  The  moon  rose  as 
they  passed  the  fourth  milestone  out  of  Calne;  another 
five  minutes  and  they  drew  up,  the  horses  panting  and 
hanging  their  heads,  in  the  main  street  of  Chippenham. 

A  coach — one  of  the  night  coaches  out  of  Bristol — was 
standing  before  the  inn,  the  horses  smoking,  the  lamps 
flaring  cheerfully,  a  crowd  round  it;  the  driver  had  just 
unbuckled  his  reins  and  flung  them  either  way.  Sir 
George  pushed  his  horse  w]}  to  the  splinter-bar  and  hailed 
him,  asking  whether  he  had  met  a  closed  chaise  and  four 
travelling  Bristol  way  at  sliced. 


174  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

'  A  closed  chaise  and  four  ?  '  the  man  answered,  looking 
down  at  the  party;  and  then  recognising  Sir  George,  'I 
beg  your  honour's  pardon,'  he  said.  '  Here,  Jeremy,'  to 
the  guard — while  the  stable-man  and  helpers  paused  to 
listen  or  stared  at  the  heaving  flanks  of  the  riders'  horses 
— '  did  we  meet  a  closed  chaise  and  four  to-night  ?  ' 

'We  met  a  chaise  and  four  at  Cold  Aston,'  the  guard 
answered,  ruminating.  '  But  'twas  Squire  Norris's  of 
Sheldon,  and  there  was  no  one  but  the  Squire  in  it.  And 
a  chaise  and  four  at  Marshfield,  but  that  was  a  burying 
party  from  Batheaston,  going  home  very  merry.  No 
other,  closed  or  open,  that  I  can  mind,  sir,  this  side  of 
Dungeon  Cross,  and  that  is  but  two  miles  out  of  Bristol.' 

'  They  are  an  hour  and  a  half  in  front  of  us  ! '  Sir 
George  cried  eagerly.  '  Will  a  guinea  improve  your  mem- 
ory ? ' 

'  Ay,  sir,  but  'twon't  make  it,'  the  coachman  answered, 
grinning.  '  Jeremy  is  right.  I  mind  no  others.  What 
will  your  honour  want  with  them  ?  ' 

'  They  have  carried  off  a  young  lady  ! '  Mr.  Fishwick 
cried  shrilly.     '  Sir  George's  kinswoman  I  ' 

'  To  be  sui'e  ?  '  ejaculated  the  driver,  amid  a  murmur  of 
astonishment;  and  the  crowd  which  had  grown  since  their 
arrival  pressed  nearer  to  listen.  '  Where  from,  sir,  if  I 
may  make  so  bold  ?  ' 

'  From  the  Castle  at  ]\[arlborough.' 

'  Dear  me,  dear  me,  there  is  audaciousness,  if  you  like  ! 
And  you  ha'  followed  them  so  far,  sir  ?  ' 

Sir  George  nodded  and  turned  to  the  crowd.  'A 
guinea  for  news  ! '  he  cried.  '  Who  saw  them  go  through 
Chippenham  !  ' 

lie  had  not  long  to  wait  for  the  answer.  '  They  never 
went  through  Chipnam  ! '  a  thick  voice  hiccoughed  from 
the  rear  of  the  press. 

■■  They  came  this  way  out  of  Calne,'  Sir  George  retorted. 


THE  PURSUIT  175 

singling  the  speaker  out,  and  signing  to  the  people  to 
make  way  that  he  might  get  at  him. 

'Ay,  but  they  never — came  to  Chipnam,'  the  fellow 
answered,  leering  at  him  with  drunken  wisdom.  '  D'you 
see  that,  master  ?  ' 

'  Which  way,  then  ?  '  Soane  cried  impatiently.  '  AVhich 
way  did  they  go?  ' 

But  the  man  only  lurched  a  stej^  nearer.  '  That's  tell- 
ing ! '  he  said  with  a  beery  smile.  '  You  want  to  be — as 
wise  as  I  be  ! ' 

Jeremy,  the  guard,  seized  him  by  the  collar  and  shook 
him.  '  You  drunken  fool  ! '  he  said.  '  D'ye  know  that 
this  is  Sir  George  Soane  of  Estcombe  ?  Answer  him,  you 
swine,  or  you'll  be  in  the  cage  in  a  one,  two  ! ' 

'  You  let  me  be,'  the  man  whined,  struggling  to  release 
himself.     '  It's  no  business  of  yours.     Let  me  be,  master  ! ' 

Sir  George  raised  his  whip  in  his  wrath,  but  lowered  it 
again  with  a  groan.  '  Can  no  one  make  him  speak  ?  ' 
he  said,  looking  round.  The  man  was  staggering  and 
lurching  in  the  guard's  grasp. 

'  His  wife,  but  she  is  to  Marshfield,  nursing  her  sister,' 
answered  one.  'But  give  him  his  guinea.  Sir  George. 
'Twill  save  time  maybe.' 

Soane  flung  it  to  him.   '  There  ! '  ho  said.   '  Now  speak  ! ' 

'  That'sh  better,'  the  man  muttered.  '  That's  talking  ! 
Now  I'll  tell  you.  You  go  back  to  Devizes  Corner — corner 
of  the  road  to  De-vizes — you  understand  ?  There  was  a 
car — car — carriage  there  without  lights  an  hour  back.  It 
was  waiting  under  the  hedge.  I  saw  it,  and  I — I  know 
what's  what  ! ' 

Sir  George  flung  a  guinea  to  the  guard,  and  wheeled 
his  horse  about.  In  the  act  of  turning  his  eye  fell  on  the 
lawyer's  steed,  which,  chosen  for  sobriety  rather  than 
staying  powers,  was  on  the  point  of  foundering.  'Get 
another,'  he  cried,  'and  follow  ! ' 


17G  THE   CASTLE  I XX 

Mr.  Fishwick  uttered  a  wail  of  despair.  To  be  left  to 
follow — to  follow  alone,  in  the  dark,  through  unknown 
roads,  with  scarce  a  clue  and  on  a  strange  horse — the 
prosjiect  might  have  appalled  a  hardier  soul.  He  was 
saved  from  it  by  Sir  George's  servant,  a  stolid  silent  man, 
who  might  be  warranted  to  ride  twenty  miles  without 
speaking.  'Here,  take  mine,  sir,'  he  said.  'I  must 
stop  to  get  a  lanthorn;  we  shall  need  one  noAV.  Do  you 
go  with  his  honour.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  slid  down  and  w^as  hoisted  into  the 
other's  saddle.  By  the  time  this  was  done  Sir  George 
was  almost  lost  in  the  gloom  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
street.  But  anything  rather  than  be  left  behind.  The 
lawyer  laid  on  his  whip  in  a  way  that  would  have  aston- 
ished him  a  few  hours  before,  and  overtook  his  leader  as 
he  emerged  from  the  town.  They  rode  without  speaking 
until  they  had  retraced  their  steps  to  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
and  could  discern  a  little  higher  on  the  ascent  the  turn 
for  Devizes. 

It  is  possible  that  Sir  George  hoped  to  find  the  chaise 
still  lurking  in  the  shelter  of  the  hedge;  for  as  he  rode 
up  to  the  corner  he  drew  a  pistol  from  his  holster,  and 
took  his  horse  by  the  head.  If  so,  he  was  disappointed. 
The  moon  had  risen  high  and  its  cold  light  disclosed  the 
whole  width  of  the  roadway,  leaving  no  place  in  which 
even  a  dog  could  lie  hidden.  Nor  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
travel  along  the  pale  strip  of  road  that  ran  southward 
was  any  movement  or  sign  of  life. 

Sir  George  dropped  from  his  saddle,  and  stooping, 
sought  for  i^roof  of  the  toper's  story.  He  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  it.  There  were  the  deep  narrow  ruts 
which  the  wheels  of  a  chaise,  long  stationary,  had  made 
in  the  turf  at  the  side  of  the  road;  and  south  of  them 
Avas  a  plat  of  poached  ground  where  the  horses  had  stood 
and  shifted  their  feet  uneasily.     He  Avalked  forward,  and 


THE  PURSUIT  177 

by  the  moouliglit  traced  the  dusty  indents  of  the  wheels 
until  they  exchanged  the  sward  for  the  hard  road.  There 
they  were  lost  in  other  tracks,  but  the  inference  was 
plain.     The  chaise  had  gone  south  to  Devizes. 

For  the  first  time  Sir  George  felt  the  full  horror  of 
nncertainty.  He  climbed  into  his  saddle  and  sat  looking 
across  the  waste  with  eyes  of  misery,  asking  himself 
whither  and  for  what  ?  Whither  had  they  taken  her,  and 
why  ?  The  Bristol  road  once  left,  his  theory  was  at  fault; 
he  had  no  clue,  and  felt,  where  time  was  life  and  more 
than  life,  the  slough  of  horrible  conjecture  rise  to  his 
very  lips. 

Only  one  thing,  one  certain  thing  remained — the  road; 
the  pale  ribbon  running  southward  under  the  stars.  Ho 
must  cling  to  that.  The  chaise  had  gone  that  way,  and 
though  the  double  might  be  no  more  than  a  trick  to  throw 
pursuers  off  the  trail,  though  the  first  dark  lane,  the  first 
roadside  tavern,  the  first  farmhouse  among  the  woods 
might  have  swallowed  the  unhappy  girl  and  the  wretches 
who  held  her  in  their  power,  what  other  clue  had  he? 
What  other  chance  but  to  track  the  chaise  that  way, 
though  every  check,  every  minute  of  uncertainty,  of 
thought,  of  hesitation — and  a  hundred  such  there  must 
be  in  a  tithe  of  the  miles — racked  him  with  fears  and 
dreadful  surmises? 

There  was  no  other.  The  wind  sweeping  across  the  hill 
on  the  western  extremity  of  which  he  stood,  looking  over 
the  lower  ground  about  the  Avon,  brought  the  distant 
howl  of  a  dog  to  his  ears,  and  chilled  his  blood  heated 
with  riding.  An  owl  beating  the  coverts  for  mice  sailed 
overhead ;  a  hare  rustled  through  the  fence.  The  stars 
above  were  awake;  in  the  intense  silence  of  the  upland 
he  could  almost  hear  the  great  spheres  throb  as  they 
swept  through  space  !  But  the  human  world  slept,  and 
while  it  slept  what  work  of  darkness  might  not  be  doing  ? 
13 


178  THE   CASTLE  INN 

That  scream,  shrill  and  ear-piercing,  that  suddenly  rent 
the  night — thank  God,  it  was  only  a  rabbit's  death-cry, 
but  it  left  the  sweat  on  his  brow  !  After  that  he  could, 
he  would,  wait  for  nothing  and  no  man.  Lanthorn  or  no 
lanthorn,  he  must  be  moving.  He  raised  his  whip,  then 
let  it  fall  again  as  his  ear  caught  far  away  the  first  faint 
hoof -beats  of  a  horse  travelling  the  road  at  headlong  speed. 

The  sound  was  very  distant  at  first,  but  it  grew  rapidly, 
and  presently  filled  the  night.  It  came  from  the  direc- 
tion of  Chippenham.  Mr.  Fishwick,  who  had  not  dared 
to  interrupt  his  companion's  calculations,  heard  the  sound 
with  relief;  and  looking  for  the  first  gleam  of  the  lant- 
liorn,  wondered  how  the  servant,  riding  at  that  pace, 
kept  it  alight,  and  whether  the  man  had  news  that  he 
galloped  so  furiously.  But  Sir  George  sat  arrested  in  his 
saddle,  listening,  listening  intently;  until  the  rider  was 
within  a  hundred  yards  or  less.  Then,  as  his  ear  told 
him  that  the  horse  was  slackening,  he  seized  Mr.  Fish- 
wick's  rein,  and  backing  their  horses  nearer  the  hedge, 
once  more  drew  a  pistol  from  his  holster. 

The  startled  lawyer  discerned  what  he  did,  looked  in 
his  face,  and  saw  that  his  eyes  were  glittering  with  excite- 
ment. But  having  no  ear  for  lioof-beats  Mr.  Fishwick 
did  not  understand  what  was  afoot,  until  the  rider  ap- 
peared at  the  road-end,  and  coming  plump  upon  them, 
drew  rein. 

Then  Sir  George's  voice  rang  out,  stern  and  ominous. 
'Good  evening,  Mr.  Dunborougli,'  he  said,  and  raised 
his  hat.  '  Well  met  !  We  are  travelling  the  same  road, 
and,  if  you  please,  will  do  the  rest  of  our  journey  together. ' 


CHAPTEK  XIX 

AX    UNWILLISTG    ALLY 

Under  the  smoothness  of  Sir  George's  words,  under 
the  subtle  mockery  of  liis  manner,  throbbed  a  volcano  of 
passion  and  vengeaiice.  Bat  this  was  for  the  lawyer  only, 
even  as  he  alone  saw  the  moonlight  gleam  faintly  on  the 
pistol  barrel  that  lurked  behind  his  companion's  thigh. 
For  Mr.  Dunborough,  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine  a  man 
more  completely  taken  by  surprise.  He  swore  one  great 
oath,  for  he  saw,  at  least,  that  the  meeting  boded  him  no 
good;  then  he  sat  motionless  in  his  saddle,  his  left  hand 
on  the  pommel,  his  right  held  stiffly  by  his  side.  The 
moon,  which  of  the  two  hung  a  little  at  Sir  George's 
back,  shone  only  on  the  lower  part  of  Dunborongh'sface, 
and  by  leaving  his  eyes  in  the  shadow  of  his  hat,  gave  the 
others  to  conjecture  what  he  would  do  next.  It  is  prob- 
able that  Sir  George,  whose  hand  and  pistol  were  ready, 
was  indifferent;  perhaps  would  have  hailed  with  satisfac- 
tion an  excuse  for  vengeance.  But  Mr.  Fishwick,  the 
pacific  witness  of  this  strange  meeting,  awaited  the  issue 
with  staring  eyes,  his  heart  in  his  mouth;  and  M'as 
mightily  relieved  when  the  silence,  which  the  heavy 
breathing  of  Mr.  Dunborough's  horse  did  but  intensify, 
was  broken  on  the  last  comer's  side,  by  nothing  worse 
than  a  constrained  laugh. 

'Travel  together?'  he  said,  with  an  awkward  assump- 
tion of  jauntinesB,  '  that  depends  on  the  road  we  are 
going.' 


180  THE   CASTLE  IXN 

'Oh,  we  are  going  the  same  road,'  Sir  George  an- 
swered, in  tlie  mocking  tone  he  had  used  before. 

'  Yon  are  very  clever,'  Mr.  Dnnborough  retorted,  striv- 
ing to  hide  his  uneasiness;  'but  if  you  know  that,  sir, 
you  have  the  advantage  of  me.' 

'  I  have,'  said  Sir  George,  and  laughed  rudely. 

Dunborough  stared,  finding  in  the  other's  manner  fresh 
cause  for  misgiving.  At  last,  'As  you  please,'  he  said 
contemptuously.  '  I  am  for  Calne.  The  road  is  jDublic. 
You  may  travel  by  it.' 

'We  are  not  going  to  Calne,'  said  Sir  George. 

Mr.  Dnnborough  swore.  '  You  are  d — d  imperti- 
nent ! '  he  said,  reining  back  his  horse,  '  and  may  go 
to  the  devil  your  own  way.  For  me,  I  am  going  to 
Calne.' 

'No,'  said  Sir  George,  'you  are  not  going  to  Calne. 
She  has  not  gone  Calne  way.' 

Mr.  Dunborough  drew  in  his  breath  quickly.  Hitherto 
he  had  been  uncertain  what  the  other  knew,  and  how  far 
the  meeting  was  accidental;  now,  forgetful  what  his 
words  imjilied  and  anxious  only  to  say  something  that 
might  cover  his  embarrassment,  'Oh,'  he  said,  'you  are 
— you  are  in  search  of  her  ?  ' 

'Yes,'  said  Sir  George  mockingly.  '  We  are  in  search 
of  her.     And  we  want  to  know  where  she  is.' 

'  Where  she  is  ?  ' 

'Yes,  where  she  is.  That  is  it;  where  she  is.  You 
were  to  meet  her  here,  you  know.  You  are  late  and  she 
has  gone.     But  you  will  know  whither.' 

Mr.  Dunborough  stared;  then  in  a  tempest  of  wrath 
and  chagrin,  '  D — n  you  !  '  he  cried  furiously.  '  As  you 
know  so  much,  you  can  find  out  the  rest  ! ' 

'  I  could,'  said  Sir  George  slowly.  'But  I  j? refer  that 
you  should  help  me.     And  vou  will.' 

'  Will  what  ?  ' 


A^  UNWILLING  ALLY  181 

'Will  help  me,  sir,'  Sir  George  answered  quickly,  'to 
find  the  lady  we  are  seeking.' 

'I'll  be  hanged  if  I  Avill,'  Dunboroiigh  cried,  raging 
and  furious. 

'You'll  be  hanged  if  you  won't,'  Sir  George  said  in  a 
changed  tone;  and  he  laughed  contemptuously.  '  Hanged 
by  the  neck  until  you  are  dead,  Mr.  Dunborough — if 
money  can  bring  it  about.  You  fool,'  he  continued,  with 
a  sudden  flash  of  the  ferocity  that  had  from  the  first  un- 
derlain his  sarcasm,  '  we  have  got  enough  from  your  own 
lij)s  to  haug  you,  and  if  more  be  wanted,  your  people  will 
peach  on  you.  You  have  put  your  neck  into  the  halter, 
and  there  is  only  one  way,  if  one,  iu  which  you  can  take 
it  out.  Think,  man;  think  before  you  speak  again,'  he 
continued  savagely,  '  for  my  patience  is  nearly  at  an  end, 
and  I  would  sooner  see  you  hang  than  not.  And  look 
you,  leave  your  reins  alone,  for  if  you  try  to  turn,  by 
G — d,  I'll  shoot  you  like  the  dog  you  are  ! ' 

Whether  he  thought  the  advice  good  or  bad,  Mr.  Dun- 
borough  took  it;  and  there  was  a  long  silence.  In  the 
distance  the  hoof-beats  of  the  servant's  horse,  approach- 
ing from  the  direction  of  Chippenham,  broke  the  still- 
ness of  the  moonlit  country;  but  round  the  three  men 
Avho  sat  motionless  in  their  saddles,  glaring  at  one  another 
and  awaiting  the  word  for  action,  was  a  kind  of  barrier, 
a  breathlessness  born  of  expectation.  At  length  Dunbor- 
ough sjioke. 

'  What  do  you  want  ?  '  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  his  voice 
confessing  his  defeat.  '  If  she  is  not  here,  I  do  not  know 
where  she  is.' 

'That  is  for  you,'  Sir  George  answered  with  a  grim 
coolness  that  astonished  ]\Ir.  Fishwick.  '  It  is  not  I  who 
will  hang  if  aught  hapj^en  to  her.' 

Again  there  was  silence.  Tlien  in  a  voice  elioked  with 
rnge  ]\[r.  Dunborough  cried,  '  Dut  if  I  do  not  know?' 


lyS  THE   CASTLE  INN 

'  The  worse  for  you,'  said  Sir  George.  He  was  sorely 
tempted  to  put  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  to  the  other's  head 
and  risk  all.  But  he  fancied  that  he  knew  his  man,  and 
that  in  this  way  only  could  he  be  effectually  cowed;  and 
he  restrained  himself. 

'  She  should  be  here — that  is  all  I  know.  She  should 
have  been  here,'  Mr.  Dunborough  continued  sulkily,  'at 
eight.' 

'  Why  here  ?  ' 

'  The  fools  would  not  take  her  through  Chippenham 
without  me.     Now  you  know.' 

'  It  is  ten,  now. ' 

'  AVell,  curse  you,'  the  younger  man  answered,  flaring 
up  again,  '  could  I  help  it  if  my  horse  fell  ?  Do  j'ou 
think  I  should  be  sitting  here  to  be  rough-ridden  by  you 
if  it  were  not  for  this?'  He  raised  his  right  arm,  or 
rather  his  shoulder,  with  a  stiff  movement;  they  saw  that 
the  arm  was  bound  to  his  side.  '  But  for  that  she  would 
be  in  Bristol  by  now,'  he  continued  disdainfully,  'and 
you  might  whistle  for  her.  But,  Lord,  here  is  a  pother 
about  a  college-wench  ! ' 

'  College-wench,  sir  ? '  the  lawyer  cried  scarcely  con- 
trolling his  indignation.  'She  is  Sir  George  Soane's 
cousin.     I'd  have  you  know  that  ! ' 

'And  my  promised  wife,'  Sir  George  said,  with  grim- 
ness. 

Dunborough  cried  out  in  his  astonishment.  '  It  is  a 
lie  ! '  he  said. 

'  As  you  please,'  Sir  George  answered. 

At  that,  a  chili  such  as  he  had  never  known  gripped 
Mr.  Dunborough's  heart.  He  had  thought  himself  in  an 
unpleasant  fix  before;  and  that  to  escape  scot  free  he 
must  eat  humble  pie  with  a  bad  grace.  But  on  this  a 
secret  terror,  such  as  sometimes  takes  possession  of  a  bold 
man  who  finds  himself  helpless  and  in  peril    seized  on 


AN  UNWILLING  ALLY  183 

him.  Given  arms  and  the  chance  to  use  them,  he  would 
have  led  the  forlornest  of  hopes,  charged  a  battery,  or 
fired  a  magazine.  But  the  species  of  danger  in  which  he 
now  found  himself — with  a  gallows  and  a  silk  rojie  in 
prospect,  his  fate  to  be  determined  by  the  very  scoundrels 
he  had  hired — shook  even  his  obstinacy.  He  looked  about 
him;  Sir  George's  servant  had  come  up  and  was  waiting 
a  little  apart. 

Mr.  Dunborough  found  his  lips  dry,  his  throat  husky. 
'  AVhat  do  yon  want?'  he  muttered,  his  voice  changed. 
'  I  have  told  you  all  I  know.  Likely  enough  they  have 
taken  her  back  to  get  themselves  out  of  the  scrape.' 

'  They  have  not,'  said  the  lawyer.  '  We  have  come  that 
way,  and  must  have  met  them.' 

'  They  may  be  in  Chippenham  ?  ' 

'  They  are  not.     We  have  inquired.' 

'  Then  they  must  have  taken  this  road.  Curse  you, 
don't  you  see  that  I  cannot  get  out  of  my  saddle  to 
look  ?  '  he  continued  ferociously. 

'  They  have  gone  this  way.  Have  you  any  devil's  shop 
— any  house  of  call  down  the  road  '? '  Sir  George  asked, 
signing  to  the  servant  to  draw  nearer. 

'Not  I.' 

'  Then  we  must  track  them.  H  they  dared  not  face 
Chippenham,  they  will  not  venture  through  Devizes.  It 
is  possible  that  they  are  making  for  Bristol  by  cross-roads. 
There  is  a  bridge  over  the  Avon  near  Laycock  Abbey, 
somewhere  on  our  right,  and  a  road  that  way  through 
Pewsey  Forest.' 

'  That  will  be  it,'  cried  Mr.  Dunborough,  sla2)piug  his 
thigh.     '  That  is  their  game,  depend  upon  it.' 

Sir  George  did  not  answer  him,  but  nodded  to  the  ser- 
vant. '  Go  on  with  the  light,'  he  said.  '  Try  every  turn- 
ing for  wheels,  but  lose  no  time.  This  gentleman  will 
accompany  us,  but  I  will  wait  on  him.' 


18-4  THE   CASTLE  INN 

The  man  obeyed  quickly,  the  lawyer  going  with  him. 
The  other  two  brought  up  the  rear,  and  in  that  order 
they  started,  riding  in  silence.  For  a  mile  or  more  the 
servant  held  the  road  at  a  steady  trot;  then  signing  to 
those  behind  him  to  halt,  he  pulled  up  at  the  mouth  of 
a  by-road  leading  westwards  from  the  highway.  He 
moved  the  light  once  or  twice  across  the  ground,  and 
cried  that  the  wheels  had  gone  that  way;  then  got  briskly 
to  his  saddle  and  swung  along  the  lane  at  a  trot,  the 
others  folloAving  in  single  file,  Sir  George  last. 

So  far  they  had  maintained  a  fair  pace.  But  the  party 
had  not  proceeded  a  quarter  of  a  mile  along  the  lane  be- 
fore the  trot  became  a  walk.  Clouds  had  come  over  the 
face  of  the  moon;  the  night  had  grown  dark.  The  riders 
were  no  longer  on  the  open  downs,  but  in  a  narrow  by- 
road, running  across  wastes  and  through  thick  coppices, 
the  ground  sloping  sharply  to  the  Avon.  In  one  place 
the  track  was  so  closely  shadowed  by  trees  as  to  be  as  dark 
as  a  pit.  In  another  it  ran,  unfenced,  across  a  heath 
studded  with  water-pools,  whence  the  startled  moor-fowl 
squattered  up  nnseen.  Everywhere  they  stumbled:  once 
a  horse  fell.  Over  such  ground,  founderous  and  scored 
knee-deep  with  ruts,  it  was  plain  that  no  wheeled  carriage 
could  move  at  speed ;  and  the  pursuers  had  this  to  cheer 
them.  But  the  darkness  of  the  night,  the  dreary  glimpses 
of  wood  and  water,  whicli  met  the  eye  when  the  moon 
for  a  moment  emerged,  the  solitude  of  this  forest  tract, 
the  muffled  tread  of  the  horses'  feet,  the  very  moaning 
of  the  wind  among  the  trees,  suggested  ideas  and  misgiv- 
ings which  Sir  George  strove  in  vain  to  sujipress.  Why 
had  the  scoundrels  gone  this  way?  Were  they  really 
bound  for  Bristol  ?  Or  for  some  den  of  villainy,  some 
thieves'  house  in  the  old  forest  ? 

At  times  these  fears  stung  him  out  of  all  patience,  and 
he  cried  to  the  man  with  the  light  to  go  faster,  faster  ! 


AN  UNWILLING  ALLY  185 

Again,  the  whole  seemed  unreal,  and  the  shadowy  woods 
and  gleaming  water-pools,  the  stumbling  horses,  the  fear, 
the  danger,  grew  to  be  the  creatures  of  a  disordered  fancy. 
It  was  an  immense  joy  to  him  when,  at  the  end  of  an 
hour,  the  lawyer  cried, '  The  road  !  the  road  ! '  and  one 
by  one  the  riders  emerged  with  grunts  of  relief  on  a 
sound  causeway.  To  make  sure  that  the  pursued  had 
nowhere  evaded  them,  the  tracks  of  the  chaise-wheels 
were  sought  and  found,  and  forward  the  four  went  again. 
Presently  they  j)lunged  through  a  brook,  and  this  passed, 
were  on  Laycock  bridge  before  they  knew  it,  and  across 
the  Avon,  and  mounting  the  slope  on  the  other  side  by 
Laycock  Abbey. 

There  were  houses  abutting  on  the  road  here,  black 
overhanging  masses  against  a  grey  sky,  and  the  riders 
looked,  wavered,  and  drew  rein.  Before  any  spoke,  how- 
ever, an  unseen  shutter  creaked  open,  and  a  voice  from 
the  darkness  cried,  '  Hallo  ! ' 

Sir  George  found  speech  to  answer.  'Yes,'  he  said, 
'  what  is  it  ?  '  The  lawyer  was  out  of  breath,  and  cling- 
ing to  the  mane  in  sheer  weariness. 

'  Be  you  after  a  chaise  driving  to  the  devil  ?  ' 

'Yes,  yes,'  Sir  George  answered  eagerly.  'Has  it 
passed,  my  man  ?  ' 

'  Ay,  sure,  Corsham  way,  for  Bath  most  like.  I  knew 
'twould  be  followed.     Is't  a  murder,  gentlemen  ?  ' 

'Yes,'  Sir  George  cried  hurriedly,  'and  worse  !  How 
far  ahead  are  they  ?  ' 

'  About  half  an  hour,  no  more,  and  whipping  and 
spurring  as  if  the  old  one  was  after  them.  My  old 
woman's  sick,  and  the  apothecary  from ' 

'  Is  it  straight  on  ?  ' 

'  Ay,  to  be  sure,  straight  on — and  the  apothecary  from 
Coi'sham,  as  I  was  saying,  he  said,  said  he,  as  soon  as  he 
saw  her ' 


186  THE  CASTLE  INN 

But  his  listeners  were  away  again;  the  old  man's  words 
were  lost  in  the  scramble  and  clatter  of  the  horses'  shoes 
as  they  sj)rang  forward.  In  a  moment  the  stillness  and 
the  dark  shapes  of  the  houses  were  exchanged  for  the 
open  country,  the  rush  of  wind  in  the  riders'  faces,  and 
the  pounding  of  hoofs  on  the  hard  road.  For  a  brief 
while  the  sky  cleared  and  the  moon  shone  out,  and  they 
rode  as  easily  as  in  the  day.  At  the  pace  at  which  they 
were  moving  Sir  George  calculated  that  they  must  come 
up  Avitli  the  fugitives  in  an  hour  or  less;  but  the  reckon- 
ing was  no  sooner  made  than  the  horses,  jaded  by  the 
heavy  ground  through  which  they  had  struggled,  began 
to  flag  and  droop  their  heads;  the  pace  grew  less  and  less; 
and  though  Sir  George  whipped  and  spurred,  Corsham 
Corner  was  reached,  and  Pickwick  Village  on  the  Bath 
road,  and  still  they  saw  no  chaise  ahead. 

It  was  past  midnight,  and  it  seemed  to  some  ihat  they 
had  been  riding  an  eternity;  yet  even  these  roused  at 
sight  of  the  great  western  highway.  The  night  coaches 
had  long  gone  eastwards,  and  the  road,  so  busy  by  day, 
stretched  before  them  dim,  shadowy,  and  empty,  as  soli- 
tary in  the  darkness  as  the  remotest  lane.  But  the 
knowledge  that  Bath  lay  at  the  end  of  it — and  no  more 
than  nine  miles  away — and  that  there  they  could  pro- 
cure aid,  fresh  horses  and  willing  helpers,  j^ut  new  life 
even  into  the  most  weary.  Even  Mr.  Fishwick,  now 
groaning  with  fatigue  and  now  crying  '  Oh  dear  !  oh 
dear  ! '  as  he  bumped,  in  a  Avay  that  at  another  time  must 
have  drawn  laughter  from  a  stone,  took  heart  of  grace; 
while  Sir  George  settled  down  to  a  dogged  jog  that  had 
something  ferocious  in  its  determination.  If  he  could 
not  trot,  he  would  amble;  if  he  could  not  amble,  he 
would  walk;  if  his  horse  could  not  walk,  he  would  go  on 
his  feet.  He  still  kept  eye  and  ear  bent  forward,  but  in 
effect  he  had  given  up  hope  of  overtaking  the  quarry 


AN  UNWILLING  ALLY  187 

before  it  reached  Bath;  and  he  was  taken  by  surprise 
when  the  servant,  who  rode  first  and  had  eased  his  horse 
to  a  walk  at  the  foot  of  Haslebury  Hill,  drew  rein  and 
cried  to  the  others  to  listen. 

For  a  moment  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  four  horses 
covered  all  other  sounds.  Then  in  the  darkness  and  the 
distance,  on  the  summit  of  the  rise  before  them,  a  wheel 
creaked  as  it  grated  over  a  stone.  A  few  seconds  and 
the  sound  was  repeated;  then  all  was  silent.  The  chaise 
had  joassed  over  the  crest  and  was  descending  the  other 
side. 

Oblivious  of  everything  excej^t  that  Julia  was  within 
his  reach,  forgetful  even  of  Duuborough  by  whose  side 
he  had  ridden  all  night — in  silence  but  with  many  a  look 
askance — Sir  George  drove  his  horse  forward,  scrambled 
and  trotted  desperately  up  the  hill,  and,  gaining  the  sum- 
mit a  score  of  yards  in  front  of  his  companions,  crossed 
the  brow  and  drew  rein  to  listen.  He  had  not  been  mis- 
taken. He  could  hear  the  wheels  creaking,  and  the 
wheelers  stumbling  and  slipping  in  the  darkness  below 
him;  and  with  a  cry  he  launched  his  horse  down  the 
descent. 

Whether  the  people  with  the  chaise  heard  the  cry  or 
not,  they  appeared  to  take  the  alarm  at  that  moment. 
He  heard  a  Avhip  crack,  the  carriage  bound  forward,  the 
horses  break  into  a  reckless  canter.  But  if  they  recked 
little  he  recked  loss;  already  he  was  plunging  down  the 
hill  after  them,  his  beast  almost  pitching  on  its  head  with 
every  stride.  The  huntsman  knows,  however,  that  many 
stumbles  go  to  a  fall.  The  bottom  was  gained  in  safety 
by  both,  and  across  the  flat  they  went,  the  chaise  bound- 
ing and  rattling  behind  the  scared  horses.  Xow  Sir 
George  had  a  glimpse  of  the  black  mass  through  the 
gloom,  now  it  seemed  to  be  gaining  on  him,  now  it  was 
gone,  and  now  again  he  drew  up  to  it  and  the  dim  out- 


188  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

line  bulked  bigger  and  2')lainer,  and  bigger  and  plainer, 
until  he  was  close  upon  it,  and  the  cracking  whips  and 
the  shouts  of  the  postboys  rose  above  the  din  of  hoofs 
and  wheels.  The  carriage  was  swa3'iug  j^erilously,  but 
Sir  George  saw  that  the  ground  was  rising,  and  that  up 
the  hill  he  nuist  win;  and,  taking  his  horse  by  the  head, 
he  lifted  it  on  by  sheer  strength  until  his  stirrup  was 
abreast  of  the  hind  wheels.  A  moment,  and  he  made 
out  the  bobbing  figure  of  the  leading  post-boy,  and,  draw- 
ing his  pistol,  cried  to  him  to  stop. 

The  answer  was  a  blinding  flash  of  light  and  a  shot. 
Sir  George's  horse  swerved  to  the  right,  and  plunging 
headlong  into  the  ditch,  flung  its  rider  six  paces  over  its 
head. 

The  servant  and  j\Ir.  Dunborough  were  no  more  than 
forty  3\irds  behind  him  when  he  fell;  in  five  seconds  the 
man  had  sprung  from  his  saddle,  let  his  horse  go,  and  was 
at  his  master's  side.  There  were  trees  there,  and  the 
darkness  in  the  shadow,  Avhere  Sir  George  lay  across  the 
roots  of  one  of  them,  Avas  intense.  The  man  could  not 
see  his  face,  nor  how  he  lay,  nor  if  he  was  injured;  and 
calling  and  getting  no  answer,  he  took  fright  and  cried 
to  Mr.  Dunborough  to  get  help. 

But  Mr.  Dunborough  had  ridden  straight  on  Avithout 
pausing  or  drawing  rein,  and  the  man,  finding  himself 
deserted,  Avrung  his  hands  in  terror.  He  had  only  Mr. 
FisliAvick  to  look  to  for  help,  and  he  Avas  some  Avay  be- 
hind. Trembling,  the  serA^ant  knelt  and  groped  for  his 
master's  face;  to  his  joy,  before  he  had  found  it,  Sir 
George  gasped,  moved,  and  sat  up;  and,  muttering  an 
incoherent  Avord  or  two,  in  a  minute  had  recovered  him- 
self sufficiently  to  rise  Avitli  help.  lie  had  fallen  clear  of 
the  horse  on  the  edge  of  the  ditch,  and  the  shock  had 
taken  his  breath;  otherAvise  he  Avas  rather  shaken  tiian 
hurt. 


AN  UNWILLING  ALLY  189 

As  soon  as  his  wits  and  wind  came  back  to  him,  '  Why 
— why  have  you  not  followed  ?  '  he  gasped. 

''Twill  be  all  right,  sir.  All  right,  sir,'  the  servant 
answered,  thinking  only  of  him. 

'  Bnt  after  them,  man,  after  them.  AVhere  is  Fish- 
wick  ?  ' 

'Coming,  sir,  he  is  coming,'  the  man  answered,  to 
soothe  him;  and  remained  where  he  was.  Sir  George 
was  so  shaken  that  he  could  not  yet  stand  alone,  and  the 
servant  did  not  know  what  to  think.  '  Are  you  sure  you 
are  not  hurt,  sir  ?  '  he  continued  anxiously. 

'No,  no!      And  Mr.  Dunborough  ?     Is  he  behind?' 

'  He  rode  on  after  them,  sir.' 

'  Eode  on  after  them  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  sir,  he  did  uot  stop.' 

'He   has   gone   on — after   them?'    Sir   Ceorge  cried. 

'  But '  and  with  that  it  flashed  on  him,  and  on  the 

servant,  and  on  Mr.  Fish  wick,  who  had  just  jogged  up 
and  dismounted,  Avhat  had  happened.  The  carriage  and 
Julia — Julia  still  in  the  hands  of  her  captors — were  gone. 
And  with  them  was  gone  Mr.  Dunborough  !  Gone  far 
out  of  hearing;  for  as  the  three  stood  together  in  the 
blackness  of  the  trees,  unable  to  see  one  another's  faces, 
the  night  was  silent  round  them.  The  rattle  of  wheels, 
the  hoof-beats  of  horses  had  died  away  in  the  distance. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    EMPTY    POST-CHAISE 

It  was  one  of  those  positions  which  try  a  man  to  the 
nttermost;  and  it  was  to  Sir  George's  credit  that,  duped 
and  defeated,  astonishingly  tricked  in  tlie  moment  of 
success,  and  physically  shaken  by  his  fall,  he  neither 
broke  into  execrations  nor  shed  unmanly  tears.  He 
groaned,  it  is  true,  and  his  arm  ^jressed  more  heavily  on 
the  servant's  shoulder,  as  he  listened  and  listened  in  vain 
for  sign  or  sound  of  the  runaways.  But  he  still  com- 
manded himself,  and  in  face  of  how  great  a  misfortune  ! 
A  more  futile,  a  more  wretched  end  to  an  exj^editiou  it 
was  impossible  to  conceive.  The  villains  had  out-paced, 
out-fought,  and  out-mano?uvred  him;  and  even  now  were 
rolling  merrily  on  to  Bath,  while  he,  Avho  a  few  minutes 
before  had  held  the  game  in  his  hands,  lay  belated  here 
without  horses  and  without  hope,  in  a  wretched  plight, 
his  every  moment  embittered  by  the  thought  of  his  mis- 
tress's fate. 

In  such  crises — to  give  the  devil  his  due — the  lessons 
of  the  gaming-table,  dearly  bought  as  they  are,  stand  a 
man  in  stead.  Sir  George's  fancy  pictured  Julia  a  pris- 
oner, trembling  and  dishevelled,  perhaps  gagged  and 
bound  by  the  coarse  hands  of  the  brutes  who  had  her  in 
their  jaower;  and  the  picture  was  one  to  drive  a  helpless 
man  mad.  Had  he  dwelt  on  it  long  and  done  nothing  it 
must  have  crazed  him.  But  in  his  life  he  had  lost  and 
won  great  sums  at  a  coup,  and  learned  to  do  the  one 


THE  E3IPTY  POST-CHAISE  191 

and  the  other  with  the  same  smile — it  was  the  point  of 
pride,  the  form  of  his  time  and  class.  While  Mr.  Fish- 
wick,  therefore,  wrung  his  hands  and  lamented,  and  the 
servant  swore.  Sir  George's  heart  bled  indeed,  bnt  it  was 
silently  and  inwardly;  and  meanwhile  he  thought,  calcu- 
lated the  odds,  and  the  distance  to  Bath  and  the  distance 
to  Bristol,  uoted  the  time;  and  finally,  and  with  sudden 
energy,  called  on  the  men  to  be  moving.  '  We  must  get 
to  Bath,'  he  said.  '  We  will  be  upsides  with  the  villains 
yet.     But  we  must  get  to  Bath.     What  horses  have  we?  ' 

Mr.  Fishwick,  who  up  to  this  point  had  played  his  part 
like  a  man,  wailed  that  his  horse  was  dead  lame  and  could 
not  stir  a  step.  The  lawyer  was  sore,  stiff,  aiid  beyond 
belief  weary;  and  this  last  mishap,  this  terrible  buffet 
from  the  hand  of  Fortune,  left  him  cowed  and  spiritless. 

'  Horses  or  no  horses,  Ave  must  get  to  Bath,'  Sir  George 
answered  feverishly. 

On  this  the  servant  made  an  attempt  to  drag  Sir 
George's  moant  from  the  ditch,  but  the  poor  beast  would 
not  budge,  and  in  the  darkness  it  was  impossible  to  dis- 
cover whether  it  was  Avounded  or  not.  Mr.  Fishwick's 
was  dead  lame;  the  man's  had  wandered  away.  It  proved 
that  there  Avas  nothing  for  it  but  to  Avalk.  Dejectedly, 
the  three  took  the  road  and  trudged  Avearily  through  the 
darkness.  They  would  reach  Bathford  village,  the  man 
believed,  in  a  mile  and  a  half. 

That  settled,  not  a  Avord  Avas  said,  for  Avho  could  gi\'e 
any  comfort  ?  Now  and  then,  as  they  plodded  up  the 
hill  beyond  Kingsdown,  the  servant  uttered  a  Ioav  curse 
and  Sir  George  groaned,  Avhile  Mr.  Fishwick  sighed  in 
sheer  exhaustion.  It  Avas  a  strange  and  dreary  position 
for  men  Avhose  ordinary  lives  ran  through  the  lighted 
places  of  the  Avorld.  The  Avind  SAvept  sadly  over  the  dark 
fields.  The  mud  clung  to  the  squelching,  dragging  boots; 
now  Mr.  Fishwick  Avas  Avithin  an  ace  of  the  ditch  on  one 


192  THE  CASTLE  INN 

side,  now  on  the  other,  and  now  lie  brought  up  heavily 
against  one  of  his  companions.  At  length  the  servant 
gave  him  an  arm,  and  thns  linived  together  they  reached 
the  crest  of  the  hill, and  after  taking  a  moment  to  breathe, 
began  the  descent. 

They  were  Avithin  two  or  three  hundred  paces  of  Bath- 
ford  and  the  bridge  over  the  Avon  when  the  servant  cried 
out  that  some  one  was  awake  in  the  village,  for  he  saw  a 
light.  A  little  nearer  and  all  saw  the  light,  which  grew 
larger  as  they  approached  but  was  sometimes  obscured. 
Finally,  when  they  were  within  a  hundred  yards  of  it, 
they  discovered  that  it  proceeded  not  from  a  window  but 
from  a  lanthorn  set  down  in  the  village  street,  and  sur- 
rounded by  five  or  six  persons  whose  movements  to  and 
fro  caused  the  temporary  eclipses  they  noticed.  What  the 
men  were  doing  was  not  at  once  clear;  but  in  the  back- 
ground rose  the  dark  mass  of  a  post-chaise,  and  seeing 
that — and  one  other  thing — Sir  George  uttered  a  low 
exclamation  and  felt  for  his  hilt. 

The  other  thing  was  Mr.  Dunborough,  who,  seated  at 
his  ease  on  the  step  of  the  post-chaise,  appeared  to  be 
telling  a  story,  while  he  nursed  his  injured  arm.  His 
audience,  who  seemed  to  have  been  lately  roused  from 
their  beds — for  they  were  half-dressed — were  so  deeply 
engrossed  in  what  he  was  narrating  that  the  approach 
of  our  party  was  unnoticed;  and  Sir  George  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  circle,  his  hand  on  the  speaker's  shoulder, 
and  his  point  at  his  breast,  before  a  man  could  move  in 
liis  defence. 

'  You  villain  !  '  Soane  cried,  all  the  misery,  all  the 
labour,  all  the  fears  of  the  night  turning  his  blood  to  fire, 
'  you  shall  pay  me  now  !  Let  a  man  stir,  and  I  will  spit 
you  like  the  dog  you  are  !  Where  is  she  ?  Where  is  she  ? 
For,  by  Heaven,  if  you  do  not  give  her  up,  I  will  kill  you 
with  my  own  hand  ! ' 


THE  EMPTY  POST-CHAISE  193 

Mr.  Dunborough,  his  eyes  on  the  other's  face,  laughed. 

That  laugh  startled  Sir  George  more  thau  the  fiercest 
movement,  the  wildest  oath.  His  point  wavered  and 
dropped.  '  My  God  ! '  he  cried,  staring  at  Dunborough. 
'  What  is  it  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  ' 

'That  is  better,'  Mr.  Dunborough  said,  nodding  com- 
placently but  not  moving  a  finger.  '  Keep  to  that  and  we 
shall  deal.' 

'  What  is  it,  man  ?  AVhat  does  it  mean  ?  '  Sir  George 
repeated.  He  was  all  of  a  tremble  and  could  scarcely 
stand. 

'  Better  and  better,'  said  Mr.  Dunborough,  nodding  his 
approval.  '  Keeji  to  that,  and  your  mouth  shut,  and  you 
shall  know  all  that  I  know.  It  is  precious  little  at  best. 
I  spurred  and  they  spurred,  I  spurred  and  they  spurred — 
there  you  have  it.  When  I  got  up  and  shouted  to  them 
to  stop,  I  suppose  they  took  me  for  you  and  thought  I 
should  stick  to  them  and  take  them  in  Bath.  So  they 
put  on  the  pace  a  bit,  and  drew  ahead  as  they  came  to  the 
houses  here,  and  then  began  to  pull  in,  recognising  me 
as  I  thought.  But  when  I  came  up,  fit  and  ready  to 
curse  their  heads  off  for  giving  me  so  much  trouble,  the 
fools  had  cut  the  leaders'  traces  and  were  off  with  them, 
and  left  me  the  old  rattle-trap  there.' 

Sir  George's  face  lightened;  he  took  two  steps  forward 
and  laid  his  hand  on  the  chaise  door. 

'  Just  so,'  said  Mr.  Dunborough  nodding  coolly.  '  That 
was  my  idea.  I  did  the  same.  But,  Lord,  what  their 
game  is  I  don't  know  !     It  was  empty.' 

'  Empty  ! '  Sir  George  cried. 

'As  empty  as  it  is  now,'  Mr.  Dunborough  answered, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  '  As  empty  as  a  bad  nut  !  If 
you  are  not  satisfied,  look  for  yourself,'  he  continued, 
rising  that  Sir  George  might  come  at  the  door. 

Soane  with  a  sharp  movement  plucked  the  door  of  the 
13 


194  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

chaise  open,  and  called  hoarsely  for  a  light.  A  big  dingy 
man  in  a  wrap-rascal  coat,  which  left  his  brawny  neck 
exposed  and  betrayed  that  nnder  the  coat  he  wore  only 
his  shirt,  held  up  a  lanthorn.  Its  light  was  scarcely 
needed.  Sir  George's  hand,  not  less  than  his  eyes,  told 
him  that  the  carriage,  a  big  roomy  post-chaise,  well- 
cushioned  and  padded,  was  empty. 

Aghast  and  incredulous,  Soane  turned  on  ]\[r.  Dun- 
borough.  'You  know  better,'  he  said  furiously.  'She 
was  here,  and  you  sent  her  on  with  them  ! ' 

^Ir.  Dunborough  pointed  to  the  man  in  the  wrap-rascal. 
'  That  man  was  up  as  soon  as  I  Avas,'  he  said.  '  Ask  him 
if  you  don't  believe  me.     He  opened  the  chaise  door.' 

Sir  George  turned  to  the  man,  who,  removing  the  shin- 
ing leather  cap  that  marked  him  for  a  smith,  slowly 
scratched  his  head.  The  other  men  pressed  up  behind 
him  to  hear,  the  group  growing  larger  every  moment  as 
one  and  another,  awakened  by  the  light  and  hubbub, 
came  out  of  his  house  and  joined  it.  Even  women  were 
beginning  to  appear  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  their 
heads  muffled  in  hoods  and  mobs. 

'The  carriage  was  empty,  sure  enough,  your  honour,' 
the  smith  said;  '  there  is  no  manner  of  doubt  about  that. 
I  heard  the  wheels  coming,  and  looked  out  and  saw  it 
stop  and  tlie  men  go  off.     There  was  no  woman  with  them.' 

'  ITow  many  were  they  ?  '  Soane  asked  sharply.  The 
man  seemed  honest. 

'Well,  there  were  two  went  off  Avith  the  horses,'  the 
smith  answered,  '  and  two  again  slipped  off  on  foot  by 
the  lane  'tween  the  houses  there.  I  saw  no  more,  your 
honour,  and  there  were  no  more.' 

'Are  you  sure,'  Sir  George  asked  eagerly,  'that  no 
one  of  the  four  Avas  a  Avoman '? ' 

The  smith  grinned.  '  How  am  I  to  know  ? '  he  an- 
SAvered  Avith  a  chuckle.     '  That's  none  of  my  business. 


THE  E3IPTY  POST-CHAISE  195 

All  I  can  say  is,  tliey  were  all  dressed  man  fashion.  And 
they  all  went  willing,  for  they  went  one  by  one,  as  you 
may  say.' 

'Two  on  foot?' 

'  By  the  lane  there.  I  never  said  no  otherwise.  Seem- 
ingly they  were  the  two  on  the  carriage.' 

'  And  you  saw  no  lady  ?  '  Sir  George  persisted,  still 
incredulous. 

'There  was  no  lady,'  the  man  answered  simply.  'I 
came  out,  and  the  gentleman  there  was  swearing  and  try- 
ing the  door.  I  forced  it  with  my  chisel,  and  you  may 
see  the  mark  on  the  break  of  the  lock  now. ' 

'  Then  we  have  been  tricked,'  Sir  George  cried  furiously. 
'  We  have  followed  the  wrong  carriage. ' 

'  Not  you,  sir,'  the  smith  answered.  '  Twas  fitted  up 
for  the  job,  or  I  should  not  have  had  to  force  the  door. 
If  'twere  not  got  ready  for  a  job  of  this  kind,  why  a  lialf- 
iucli  shutter  inside  the  canvas  blinds,  and  the  bolt  out- 
side, 'swell  as  a  lock?  Mark  that  door!  D'you  ever 
see  the  like  of  that  on  an  honest  carriage  ?  AVhy,  'tis 
naught  but  a  jDrison  ! ' 

He  held  up  the  light  inside  the  carriage,  and  Sir 
George,  the  crowd  pressing  forward  to  look  over  his 
shoulder,  saw  that  it  was  as  the  man  said.  Sir  George 
saw  something  more — and  pounced  on  it  greedily.  At 
the  foot  of  the  doorway,  between  the  floor  of  the  carriage 
and  the  straw  mat  that  covered  it,  the  corner  of  a  black 
silk  kerchief  showed.  How  it  came  to  be  in  that  position, 
whether  it  had  been  kicked  thither  by  accident  or  thrust 
under  the  mat  on  j^urpose,  it  was  impossible  to  say.  But 
there  it  was,  and  as  Sir  George  held  it  up  to  the  lanthorn 
— jealously  interposing  himself  between  it  and  the  curious 
eyes  of  the  crowd — he  felt  something  hard  inside  the  folds 
and  saw  that  the  corners  were  knotted.  He  uttered  an 
exclamation. 


1"J6  THE   CASTLE  INN 

'  More  room,  good  peo2:)le,  more  room  ! '  he  cried. 

*  Your  honour  ha'  got  something  ?  '  said  the  smith;  and 
then  to  the  crowd,  '  Here,  you — keep  back,  will  you  ?  '  he 
continued,  '  and  give  the  gentleman  room  to  breathe.  Or 
will  you  ha'  the  constable  fetched  ?  ' 

'  I  be  here  ! '  cried  a  weakly  voice  from  the  skirts  of 
the  crowd. 

'Ay,  so  be  Easter,'  the  smith  retorted  gruffly,  as  a 
puny  atomy  of  a  man  with  a  stick  and  lanthoru  was 
pushed  with  difficulty  to  the  front.  '  But  so  being  you 
are  here,  supposing  you  put  Joe  Hincks  a  foot  or  two 
back,  and  let  the  gentleman  have  elbow-room. ' 

There  was  a  laugh  at  this,  for  Joe  Hincks  was  a  giant 
a  little  taller  than  the  smith.  Xone  the  less,  the  hint  had 
the  desired  effect.  The  crowd  fell  back  a  little.  Mean- 
while, Sir  George,  the  general  attention  diverted  from 
him,  had  untied  the  knot.  When  the  smith  turned  to 
him  again,  it  was  to  find  him  staring  with  a  blank  face 
at  a  plain  black  snuff-box,  which  was  all  he  had  found  in 
the  kerchief. 

'  Sakes  ! '  cried  the  smith,  '  whose  is  that  ?  ' 

'I  don't  know,'  Sir  George  answered  grimly,  and  shot 
a  glance  of  suspicion  at  Mr.  Dunborough,  who  was  lean- 
ing against  the  fore-wheel. 

But  that  gentleman  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  You 
need  not  look  at  me,'  he  said.  *  It  is  not  my  box;  I  have 
mine  here.' 

'Whose  is  it?' 

Mr.  Dunborough  raised  his  e3'ebrows  and  did  not  an- 
swer. 

'  Do  you  know  ?  '  Sir  George  jiersisted  fiercely. 

'  Xo,  I  don't.     I  know  no  more  about  it  than  you  do.' 

'  Maybe  the  lady  took  snuff  ?  '  the  smith  said  cautiously. 

iMany  ladies  did,  but  not  this  one;  and  Sir  George 
sniffed  his  contempt.     He  turned  the  box  over  and  over 


THE  EMPTY  POST-CHAISE  197 

in  liis  hand.     It  was  a  plain  black  box,  of  smootli  enamel, 
about  two  inches  long. 

'I  believe  I  have  seen  one  like  it,'  said  Mr.  Diinbor- 
ough,  yawning.     '  But  I'm  hanged  if  I  can  tell  where.' 

'  Has  your  honour  looked  inside  V '  the  smith  asked. 
'  Maybe  there  is  a  note  in  it.' 

Sir  George  cut  him  short  with  an  exclamation,  and 
held  the  box  up  to  the  light.  *'  There  is  something 
scratched  on  it,'  he  said. 

There  was.  AVhen  he  held  the  box  close  to  the  lant- 
horn,  words  rudely  scratched  on  the  enamel,  as  if  with 
the  point  of  a  pin,  became  visible;  visible,  but  not  imme- 
diately legible,  so  scratchy  were  the  letters  and  imper- 
fectly formed  the  strokes.  It  was  not  until  the  fourth  or 
fifth  time  of  reading  that  Sir  George  made  out  the  follow- 
ing scrawl : 

'Take  to  Fishwick,  Castle,  Marlboro'.     Help  !  Julia.' 

Sir  George  swore.  The  box,  with  its  pitiful,  scarce 
articulate  cry,  brought  the  girl's  helpless  position,  her 
distress,  her  terror,  more  clearly  to  his  mind  than  all  that 
had  gone  before.  Xor  to  his  mind  only,  but  to  his  heart; 
he  scarcely  asked  himself  why  the  appeal  was  made  to 
another,  or  whence  came  this  box — which  was  plainly  a 
man's,  and  still  had  snuff  in  it — or  even  whither  she  had 
been  so  completely  spirited  away  that  there  remained  of 
her  no  more  than  this,  and  the  black  kerchief,  and  about 
the  carriage  a  fragrance  of  her — j)erceptible  only  by  a 
lover's  senses.  A  whirl  of  pity  and  rage — pity  for  her, 
rage  against  her  captors — swept  such  questions  from  his 
mind.  He  was  shaken  by  gusty  impulses,  now  to  strike 
Mr.  Dunborough  across  his  smirking  face,  now  to  give 
some  frenzied  order,  now  to  do  some  foolish  act  that  must 
expose  him  to  disgrace.  He  had  much  ado  not  to  break 
into  hysterical  weeping,  or  into  a  torrent  of  frantic  oaths. 
The  exertions  of  the  night,  following  on  a  day  spent  in 


198  THE  CASTLE  INN 

the  saddle,  the  tortures  of  fear  and  suspense,  this  last 
disappointment,  the  shock  of  his  fall — had  all  told  on 
him;  and  it  was  well  that  at  this  crisis  Mr.  Fishwick 
was  at  his  elbow. 

For  the  lawyer  saw  his  face  and  read  it  aright,  and 
interposing  suggested  an  adjournment  to  the  inn;  adding 
that  while  they  talked  the  matter  over  and  refreshed  them- 
selves, a  messenger  could  go  to  Bath  and  bring  back  new 
horses;  in  that  way  they  might  still  be  in  Bristol  by  eight 
in  the  morning. 

'  Bristol  ! '  Sir  George  muttered,  passing  his  hand 
across  his  brow.  '  Bristol  !  But — she  is  not  with  them. 
We  don't  know  where  she  is.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  was  himself  sick  with  fatigue,  but  he 
knew  what  to  do  and  did  it.  He  passed  his  arm  through 
Sir  George's,  and  signed  to  the  smith  to  lead  the  way  to 
the  inn.  The  man  did  so,  the  crowd  made  way  for  them, 
Mr.  Diinborough  and  the  servant  followed;  in  less  than  a 
minute  the  three  gentlemen  stood  together  in  the  sanded 
tap-room  at  the  tavern.  The  landlord  hurried  in  and 
hung  a  lamp  on  a  hook  in  the  whitewashed  wall;  its  glare 
fell  strongly  on  their  features,  and  for  the  first  time  that 
night  showed  the  three  to  one  another. 

Even  in  that  poor  place,  the  light  had  seldom  fallen  on 
persons  in  a  more  pitiable  plight.  Of  the  three.  Sir 
George  alone  stood  erect,  his  glittering  eyes  and  twitching 
nostrils  belying  the  deadly  pallor  of  his  face.  He  was 
splashed  with  mud  from  head  to  foot,  his  coat  was  plas- 
tered where  he  had  fallen,  his  cravat  was  torn  and  open 
at  the  throat.  He  still  held  his  naked  sword  in  his  hand; 
apparently  he  had  forgotten  that  he  held  it.  Mr.  Dun- 
borough  was  in  scarce  better  condition.  White  and 
shaken,  his  hand  bound  to  his  side,  he  had  dropped  at 
once  into  a  chair,  and  sat,  his  free  hand  plunged  into  his 
breeches  pocket,  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast.     Mr.  Fish- 


THE  EMPTY  POST-CIIAISE  199 

wick,  a  pale  image  of  himself,  his  knees  trembling  Avith 
exhaustion,  leaned  against  the  wall.  The  adventures  of 
the  night  had  let  none  of  the  travellers  escape. 

The  landlord  and  his  wife  could  be  heard  in  the  kitchen 
drawing  ale  and  clattering  plates,  while  the  voices  of  the 
constable  and  his  gossips,  drawling  their  wonder  and 
surmises,  filled  the  passage.  Sir  George  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

'  Bristol  ! '  he  said  dully.     '  Why  Bristol  ?  ' 

'Because  the  villains  who  have  escaped  us  liere,'  the 
lawyer  answered,  '  we  shall  find  there.  And  they  will 
know  what  has  become  of  her.' 

'But  shall  we  find  them  ?  ' 

'  Mr.  Dunborough  will  find  them.' 

'  Ha  ! '  said  Sir  George,  with  a  sombre  glance.  '  So 
he  win.' 

Mr.  Dunborough  spoke  with  sudden  fury.  '  I  wish  to 
Heaven,'  he  said,  'that  I  had  never  heard  the  girl's 
name.     How  do  I  know  where  she  is !  ' 

'  You  will  have  to  know,'  Sir  George  muttered  between 
his  teeth. 

'Fine  talk  !'  Mr.  Dunborough  retorted,  with  a  faint 
attempt  at  a  sneer,  '  when  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
I  have  no  more  idea  where  the  girl  is  or  what  has  become 
of  her  than  that  snufi'-box.  And  d — n  me  !  '  he  contin- 
ued sharply,  his  eyes  on  the  box,  which  Sir  George  still 
held  in  his  hand,  '  whose  is  the  snuff-box,  and  how  did 
she  get  it?  That  is  what  I  want  to  know  ?  And  why 
did  she  leave  it  in  the  carriage  ?  If  we  had  found  it 
dropped  in  the  road  now,  and  that  kerchief  round  it,  I 
could  understand  that  !  But  in  the  carriage.  Pho  !  I 
believe  I  am  not  the  only  one  in  this  ! ' 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN"    THE    CARKIAGE 

The  man  whose  work  had  taken  liim  that  evening  to 
the  summit  of  the  Druid's  Mound,  and  whose  tale  roused 
the  Castle  Inn  ten  minutes  later,  had  seen  aright.  But 
he  had  not  seen  all.  Had  he  waited  another  minute,  he 
would  have  marked  a  fresh  actor  appear  at  Manton 
Corner,  would  have  witnessed  the  denouement  of  the 
scene,  and  had  that  to  tell  when  he  descended,  which 
must  have  allayed  in  a  degree,  not  only  the  general 
alarm,  but  Sir  George's  private  apprehensions. 

It  is  when  the  mind  is  braced  to  meet  a  known  emer- 
gency that  it  falls  the  easiest  prey  to  the  unexpected. 
Julia  was  no  coward.  But  as  she  loitered  along  the  lane 
beyond  Preshute  churchyard  in  the  gentle  hour  before 
sunset,  her  whole  being  was  set  on  the  coming  of  the  lover 
for  whom  she  waited.  As  she  thought  over  the  avowal 
she  would  make  to  him,  and  conned  the  words  she  would 
speak  to  him,  the  girl's  cheeks,  though  she  believed  her- 
self alone,  burned  with  happy  blushes;  her  breath  came 
more  quickly,  her  body  swayed  involuntarily  in  the  direc- 
tion whence  he,  who  had  chosen  and  honoured  her,  would 
come  !  The  soft  glow  which  oversjiread  the  heights,  as 
the  sun  went  down  and  left  the  vale  to  peace  and  rest, 
was  not  more  real  or  more  pure  than  the  happiness  that 
thrilled  her.  Her  heart  overflowed  in  a  tender  ecstasy, 
as  she  thanked  God,  and  her  lover.  In  the  peace  that 
lay  around  her,  she  who  had  flouted  Sir  George,  not  once 


IJV  THE   CARRIAGE  201 

or  twice,  who  had  mocked  and  tormented  him,  in  fancy 
kissed  his  feet. 

In  such  a  mood  as  this  she  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears 
for  aught  but  the  coming  of  her  lover.  AVlien  she  readied 
the  corner,  jealous  that  none  hut  he  shoukl  see  the  happy 
shining  of  her  eyes — nor  he  until  he  stood  beside  her — she 
turned  to  walk  back;  in  a  luxury  of  anticipation.  Her 
lot  was  wonderful  to  her.  She  sang  in  her  heart  that  she 
was  blessed  among  women. 

And  then,  without  the  least  warning,  the  grating  of  a 
stone  even,  or  the  sound  of  a  footstep,  a  violent  grip  en- 
circled her  waist  from  behind;  something  thick,  rough, 
suffocating,  fell  on  her  head  and  eyes,  enveloped  and 
blinded  her.  The  shock  of  the  surprise  was  so  great  that 
for  a  moment  breath  and  even  the  instinct  of  resistance 
failed  her;  and  she  had  been  forced  several  steps,  in  what 
direction  she  had  no  idea,  before  sense  and  horror  awoke 
together,  and  wresting  herself,  by  the  supreme  effort  of 
an  active  girl,  from  the  grasp  that  confined  her,  she  freed 
her  mouth  sufficiently  to  scream. 

Twice  and  shrilly;  then,  before  she  could  entirely  rid 
her  head  of  the  folds  that  blinded  her,  a  remorseless  grip 
closed  on  her  neck,  and  another  round  her  waist;  and 
choking  and  terrified,  vainly  struggling  and  fighting,  she 
felt  herself  j)ushed  along.  Coarse  voices,  imprecating 
vengeance  on  her  if  she  screamed  again,  sounded  in  her 
ears;  and  then  for  a  moment  her  course  was  stayed.  She 
fancied  that  she  heard  a  shout,  the  rush  and  scramble  of 
feet  in  the  road,  new  curses  and  impi'ecations.  The  grasp 
on  her  waist  relaxed,  and  seizing  her  opportunity  she 
strove  with  the  strength  of  despair  to  wrest  herself  from 
•the  hands  that  still  held  the  covering  over  lier  head.  In- 
stead, she  felt  herself  lifted  up,  something  struck  her 
sharply  on  the  knee;  the  next  moment  she  fell  vio- 
lently  and  all  huddled  up  on — it  might  have  been  the 


203  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

ground,  for  all  she  knew;  it  really  was  the  seat  of  a 
carriage. 

The  shock  was  no  slight  one,  but  she  struggled  to  her 
feet,  and  heard,  as  she  tore  the  covering  from  her  head, 
a  report  as  of  a  pistol  shot.  The  next  moment  she  lost 
her  footing,  and  fell  back.  She  alighted  on  the  place 
from  which  she  had  raised  herself,  and  was  not  hurt. 
But  the  jolt,  which  had  jerked  her  from  her  feet,  and  the 
subsequent  motion,  disclosed  the  truth.  Before  she  had 
entirely  released  her  head  from  the  folds  of  the  cloak,  she 
knew  that  she  was  in  a  carriage,  whirled  along  behind 
swift  horses;  and  that  the  peril  Avas  real,  and  not  of  the 
moment,  momentary  ! 

This  was  horror  enough.  But  it  was  not  all.  One  wild 
look  round,  and  her  eyes  began  to  penetrate  the  gloom  of 
the  closely  shut  carriage — and  she  shrank  into  her  corner. 
She  checked  the  rising  sob  that  preluded  a  storm  of  rage 
and  tears,  stayed  the  frenzied  impulse  to  shriek,  to  beat 
on  the  doors,  to  do  anything  that  might  scare  the  vil- 
lains; she  sat  frozen,  staring,  motionless.  For  on  the 
seat  beside  her,  almost  touching  her,  was  a  man. 

In  the  dim  light  it  was  not  easy  to  make  out  more  than 
his  figure.  He  sat  huddled  up  in  his  corner,  his  wig 
awry,  one  hand  to  his  face;  gazing  at  her,  she  fancied, 
between  his  fingers,  enjoying  the  play  of  her  rage,  her 
agitation,  her  disorder.  He  did  not  move  or  speak  when 
she  discovered  him,  but  in  the  circumstances  that  he  was 
a  man  was  enough.  The  violence  with  which  she  had 
been  treated,  the  audacity  of  such  an  outrage  in  daylight 
and  on  the  highway,  the  closed  and  darkened  carriage, 
the  sj)eed  at  which  they  travelled,  all  were  grounds  for 
alarm  as  serious  as  a  woman  could  feel;  and  Julia,  though 
she  was  a  brave  woman,  felt  a  sudden  horror  come  over 
her.  Xone  the  less  was  her  mind  made  up;  if  the  man 
moved  nearer  to  her,  if  he  stretched  out  so  much  as  his 


IN  THE   CARRIAGE  803 

hand  towards  her,  she  would  tear  liis  face  with  her  fingers. 
She  sat  with  them  on  her  Lip  and  felt  them  as  steel  to  do 
her  bidding. 

The  carriage  rumbled  on,  and  still  he  did  not  move. 
From  her  corner  she  watched  him,  her  eyes  glittering 
with  excitement,  her  breath  coming  quick  and  short. 
Would  he  never  move  ?  In  truth  not  three  minutes  had 
elapsed  since  she  discovered  him  beside  her;  but  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  had  sat  there  an  age  watching  him;  ay, 
three  ages.  The  light  was  dim  and  untrustworthy,  steal- 
ing in  through  a  crack  here  and  a  crevice  there.  The 
carriage  swayed  and  shook  with  the  speed  at  which  it 
travelled.  More  than  once  she  thought  that  the  man's 
hand,  which  rested  on  the  seat  beside  him,  a  fat  white 
hand,  hateful,  dubious,  was  moving,  moving  slowly  and 
stealthily  along  the  cushion  towards  her;  and  she  waited 
shuddering,  a  scream  on  her  lips.  The  same  terror 
which,  a  while  before,  had  frozen  the  cry  in  her  throat, 
now  tried  her  in  another  way.  She  longed  to  speak,  to 
shriek,  to  stand  up,  to  break  in  one  way  or  any  way  the 
hideous  silence,  the  spell  that  bound  her.  Every  moment 
the  strain  on  her  nerves  grew  tenser,  the  fear  lest  she 
should  swoon,  more  immediate,  more  appalling;  and  still 
the  man  sat  in  his  corner,  motionless,  peeping  at  her 
through  his  fingers,  leering  and  biding  his  time. 

It  was  horrible,  and  it  seemed  endless.  If  she  had 
had  a  weapon  it  would  have  been  better.  But  she  had 
only  her  bare  hands  and  her  despair;  and  she  might 
swoon.  At  last  the  carriage  swerved  sharply  to  one  side, 
and  jolted  over  a  stone;  and  the  man  lurched  nearer  to 
her,  and — and  moaned  ! 

Julia  drew  a  deep  breath  and  leaned  forward,  scarcely 
able  to  believe  her  ears.  But  the  man  moaned  again;  and 
then,  as  if  the  shaking  had  roused  him  from  a  state  of 
stupor,  sat  up  slowly  in  his  corner;  she  saw,  peering  more 


204  THE   CASTLE  INN 

closely  at  him,  that  he  had  been  strangely  luuldled  be- 
fore. At  last  he  lowered  his  hand  from  his  face  and  dis- 
closed his  features.  It  was — her  astonishment  was  im- 
mense— it  was  Mr.  Thomassou  ! 

In  her  surprise  Julia  uttered  a  cry.  The  tutor  opened 
his  eyes  and  looked  languidly  at  her;  muttered  some- 
thing incoherent  about  his  head,  and  shut  his  eyes  again, 
letting  his  chin  fall  on  his  breast. 

But  the  girl  was  in  a  mood  only  one  degree  removed 
from  frenzy.  She  leaned  forward  and  shook  his  arm. 
'  Mr.  Thomassou  ! '  she  cried.     '  Mr.  Thomasson  !  ' 

Apparently  the  name  and  the  touch  were  more  efiectual. 
He  opened  his  eyes  and  sat  up  with  a  start  of  recognition, 
feigned  or  real.  On  his  temple  just  under  the  edge  of 
his  wig,  which  was  awry,  Avas  a  slight  cut.  He  felt  it 
gingerly  with  his  fingers,  glanced  at  them,  and  finding 
them  stained  with  blood,  shuddered.  '  I  am  afraid — I 
am  hurt,'  he  muttered. 

His  languor  and  her  excitement  went  ill  together.  She 
doubted  he  was  pretending,  and  had  a  hundred  ill-defined, 
half -formed  suspicions  of  him.  Was  it  possible  that  he — 
he  had  dared  to  contrive  this  ?  Or  was  he  employed  by 
others — by  another  ?  '  Who  hurt  you  ?  '  she  cried  sharply. 
At  least  she  was  not  afraid  of  him. 

He  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  horses.  '  They  did,' 
he  said  stupidly.  '  I  saw  it  from  the  lane  and  ran  to 
help  you.  The  man  I  seized  struck  me — here.  Tlien,  I 
suppose  they  feared  I  should  raise  the  country  on 
them.  And  they  forced  me  in — I  don't  well  remember 
how.' 

'  And  that  is  all  you  know  ?  '  she  cried  imperiously. 

His  look  convinced  her.  '  Then  help  me  now ! '  she 
replied,  rising  impetuously  to  her  feet,  and  steadying 
herself  by  setting  one  hand  against  the  back  of  the  car- 
riage.    'Shout!    Scream!     Threaten  them  !     Don't  you 


IN  THE  CARRIAGE  305 

see  that  every  yard  we  are  carried  puts  us  farther  in  their 
power  ?     Shout  ! — do  you  hear  ?  ' 

'  They  will  murder  us  ! '  he  protested  faintly.  His 
cheeks  were  pale;  his  face  wore  a  scared  look,  and  he 
trembled  visibly. 

'  Let  them  ! '  she  answered  passionately,  beating  on  the 
nearest  door.  '  Better  that  than  be  in  their  hands. 
Help  !     Help  !     Help  here  ! ' 

Her  shrieks  rose  above  the  rumble  of  the  wheels  and 
the  steady  trampling  of  the  horses;  she  added  to  the  noise 
by  kicking  and  beating  on  the  door  with  the  fury  of  a 
mad  woman.  ]\[r.  Thomasson  had  had  enough  of  violence 
for  that  day;  and  shrank  from  anything  that  might  bring 
on  him  the  fresh  wrath  of  his  captors.  But  a  moment's 
reflection  showed  him  that  if  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
carried  on  he  would,  sooner  or  later,  find  himself  face  to 
face  with  Mr.  Dunborough;  and,  in  any  case,  that  it  was 
now  his  interest  to  stand  by  his  companion;  and  joresently 
he  too  fell  to  shouting  and  drumming  on  the  panels. 
There  was  a  quaver,  indeed,  in  his  '  Help  !  Help  ! '  that 
a  little  betrayed  the  man;  but  in  the  determined  clamour 
which  she  raised  and  continued  to  maintain,  it  passed 
well  enough. 

'  If  we  meet  any  one — they  must  hear  us  ! '  she  gasped, 
presently,  pausing  a  moment  to  take  breath.  '  Which 
way  are  we  going?  ' 

'Towards  Calne,  I  think,'  he  answered,  continuing  to 
drum  on  the  door  in  the  intervals  of  speech.  '  In  the 
street  we  must  be  heard.' 

'  Help  !  Help  ! '  she  screamed,  still  more  recklessly. 
She  was  growing  hoarse,  and  the  prospect  terrified  her. 
'  Do  you  hear  ?    Stop,  villains  !    Help  !     Help  !     Help  ! ' 

'  Murder  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  shouted,  seconding  her 
with  voice  and  fist.     '  Murder  !     Murder  ! ' 

But  in  the  last  word,  despite  his  valiant  determination 


206  THE  CASTLE  INN 

to  throw  in  his  lot  witli  her,  was  a  sudden,  most  audible, 
quaver.  The  carriage  was  beginning  to  draw  up;  and 
that  which  he  had  imperiously  demanded  a  moment  be- 
fore, he  now  as  urgently  dreaded.  Not  so  Julia;  her 
natural  courage  had  returned,  and  the  moment  the 
vehicle  came  to  a  standstill  and  the  door  was  opened, 
she  flung  herself  towards  it.  The  next  instant  she  was 
pushed  forcibly  back  by  the  muzzle  of  a  huge  horse-pis- 
tol which  a  man  outside  clapped  to  her  breast;  while 
the  glare  of  the  bull's-eye  lanthorn  which  he  thrust  in 
her  face  blinded  her. 

The  man  uttered  the  most  horrid  imprecations.  '  You 
noisy  slut,'  he  growled,  shoving  his  face,  hideous  in  its 
crape  mask,  into  the  coach,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  husky 
with  liquor,  '  will  you  stop  your  whining  ?  Or  must  I 
blow  you  to  pieces  with  my  Toby  ?  For  you,  you  white- 
livered  sneak,'  he  continued,  addressing  the  tutor,  'give 
me  any  more  of  your  piping  and  I'll  cut  out  your  tongue  ! 
Who  is  hurting  you,  I'd  like  to  know  !  As  for  you,  my 
fine  lady,  have  a  care  of  your  skin,  for  if  I  pull  you  out 
into  the  road  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you  !  D'ye  hear 
me  ?  '  he  continued,  with  a  volley  of  savage  oaths.  '  A 
little  more  of  your  music,  and  I'll  have  you  out  and  strip 
the  clothes  off  your  back  !  You  don't  hang  me  for  noth- 
ing. D — n  you,  we  are  three  miles  from  anywhere,  and 
I  have  a  mind  to  gag  you,  whether  or  no  !  And  I  will 
too,  if  you  so  much  as  open  your  squeaker  again  ! ' 

'  Let  me  go,'  she  cried  faintly.     '  Let  me  go.' 

'  Oh,  you  will  be  let  go  fast  enough — the  other  side  of 
the  water,'  he  answered,  Avith  a  villainous  laugh.  'I'm 
bail  to  that.  In  the  meantime  keep  a  still  tongue,  or  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  you  !  Once  out  of  Bristol,  and  you 
may  pipe  as  you  like  ! ' 

The  ffirl  fell  back  in  her  corner  with  a  low  wail  of 
despair.      The  man   seeing  the  effect  he  had  wrought, 


IN  THE  CARRIAGE  207 

laughed  his  triumph,  and  in  sheei'  brutality  passed  his 
light  once  or  twice  across  her  face.  Then  he  closed  the 
door  with  a  crash  and  mounted;  the  carriage  bounded 
forward  again,  and  in  a  trice  was  travelling  onward  as 
rapidly  as  before. 

Night  had  set  in,  and  darkness,  a  darkness  that  could 
almost  be  felt,  reigned  in  the  interior  of  the  chaise. 
Neither  of  the  travellers  could  now  see  the  other,  though 
they  sat  within  arm's  length.  The  tutor,  as  soon  as  they 
were  well  started,  and  his  nerves,  shaken  by  the  man's 
threats,  permitted  him  to  think  of  anything  save  his  own 
safety,  began  to  wonder  that  his  companion,  wdio  had  been 
so  forward  before,  did  not  now  speak;  to  look  for  her  to 
speak,  and  to  find  the  darkness  and  this  silence,  which 
left  him  to  feed  on  his  fears,  strangely  uncomfortable. 
He  could  almost  believe  that  she  was  no  longer  there. 
At  length,  unable  to  bear  it  longer,  he  spoke. 

'  I  suppose  you  know,'  he  said — he  was  growing  vexed 
with  the  girl  who  had  brought  him  into  this  j)eril — '  who 
is  at  the  bottom  of  this  ?  ' 

She  did  not  answ^er,  or  rather  she  answered  only  by  a 
sudden  burst  of  weeping;  not  the  light,  facile  weeping 
of  a  woman  crossed  or  over-fretted,  or  frightened;  but 
the  convulsive  heart-rending  sobbing  of  utter  grief  and 
abandonment. 

The  tutor  heard,  and  was  at  first  astonished,  then 
alarmed.  'My  dear,  good  girl,  don't  cry  like  that,'  he 
said  awkwardly.  '  Don't  !  I — I  don't  understand  it. 
You — you  frighten  me.  You — you  really  should  not. 
I  only  asked  you  if  you  knew  whose  work  this  was.' 

'  I  know  !  I  know  only  too  well  ! '  she  cried  passion- 
ately.    '  God  help  me  !     God  help  all  women  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  wondered  whether  she  referred  to  the 
future  and  her  own  fate.  In  that  case,  her  complete 
surrender  to  despair  seemed  strange,  seemed  even  inex- 


208  THE  CASTLE  INN 

plicable,  in  one  who  a  few  minutes  before  had  shown  a 
spirit  above  a  woman's.  Or  did  she  know  something  that 
he  did  not  know?  Something  that  caused  this  sudden 
collapse.  The  tliought  increased  his  uneasiness;  the 
coward  dreads  everything,  and  his  nerves  were  shaken. 
'  Pish  !  pish  ! '  he  said  pettishly.  '  You  should  not  give 
way  like  that  !  You  should  not,  you  must  not  give 
way  ! ' 

'And  why  not?  '  she  cried,  arresting  her  sobs.  There 
was  a  ring  of  expectation  in  her  voice,  a  hoping  against 
hope.  He  fancied  that  she  had  lowered  her  hands  and 
was  peering  at  him. 

'Because  we — we  may  yet  contrive  something,'  he  an- 
swered lamely.  '  AVe — we  may  be  rescued.  Indeed — I 
am  sure  we  shall  be  rescued,'  he  continued,  fighting  his 
fears  as  well  as  hers. 

'  And  what  if  we  are  ? '  she  cried  with  a  passion  that 
took  him  aback.  '  What  if  we  are  ?  AVhat  better  am  I 
if  we  are  rescued?  Oh,  I  would  have  done  anything  for 
him  !  I  would  have  died  for  him  ! '  she  continued  wildly. 
'And  he  has  done  this  for  me.  I  would  have  given  him 
all,  all  freely,  for  no  return  if  he  would  have  it  so;  and 
this  is  his  requital  !  This  is  the  way  he  has  gone  to  get 
it.     Oh,  vile  !  vile  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  started.  Metaphorically,  he  was  no 
longer  in  the  dark.  She  fancied  that  Sir  George,  Sir 
George  whom  she  loved,  was  the  contriver  of  this  vil- 
lainy. She  thought  that  Sir  George — Sir  George,  her 
cousin — was  the  abductor;  that  slie  was  being  carried  off, 
not  for  her  own  sake,  but  as  an  obstacle  to  be  removed 
from  his  path.  The  conception  took  the  tutor's  breath 
away;  he  was  even  staggered  for  the  moment,  it  agreed 
so  well  with  one  part  of  the  facts.  And  when  an  instant 
later  his  own  certain  information  came  to  his  aid  and 
showed  him  its  unreality,   and  he   would   have   blurted 


IN  THE  CARRIAGE  209 

out  the  truth — he  hesitated.  The  words  were  on  the 
tip  of  his  tongue,  the  sentence  was  arranged,  but  he 
hesitated. 

AVhy  ?  Simply  because  lie  was  Mr.  Thomasson,  and  it 
was  not  in  liis  nature  to  do  the  thing  that  lay  before  him 
until  he  had  considered  whether  it  might  not  profit  him 
to  do  something  else.  In  this  case  the  bare  statement 
that  Mr.  Dunborough,  and  not  Sir  George,  was  the  author 
of  the  outrage,  would  go  for  little  with  her.  If  he  pro- 
ceeded to  his  reasons  he  might  convince  her;  but  he 
would  also  fix  himself  with  a  fore-knowledge  of  the 
danger — a  fore-knowledge  which  he  had  not  imparted 
to  her,  and  which  must  sensibly  detract  from  the 
merit  of  the  service  he  had  already  and  undoubtedly 
performed. 

This  was  a  risk;  and  there  was  a  farther  consideration. 
Why  give  Mr.  Dunborough  new  ground  for  complaint  by 
discovering  him  ?  True,  at  Bristol  she  would  learn  the 
truth.  But  if  she  did  not  reach  Bristol  ?  If  they  were 
overtaken  midway?  In  that  case  the  tutor  saw  possibili- 
ties, if  he  kept  his  mouth  shut — possibilities  of  profit  at 
Mr.  Dunborough's  hands. 

In  intervals  between  fits  of  alarm — when  the  carriage 
seemed  to  be  about  to  halt — he  turned  these  things  over. 
He  could  hear  the  girl  weeping  in  her  corner,  quietly,  but 
in  a  heart-broken  manner;  and  continually,  while  he 
thought  and  she  wept,  and  an  impenetrable  curtain  of 
darkness  hid  the  one  from  the  other,  the  chaise  held  on 
its  course  up-hill  and  down-hill,  now  bumping  and  rat- 
tling behind  flying  horses,  and  now  rumbling  and  strain- 
ing up  Yatesbury  Downs. 

At  last  he  broke  the  silence.  '  What  makes  you  think,' 
he  said,  '  that  it  is  Sir  George  has  done  this  ?  ' 

She  did  not  answer  or  stop  weei)ing  for  a  while.  Then, 
'He  was  to  meet  me  at  sunset,  at  the  Corner,'  she  said. 
14 


210  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Who   else  knew   that   I   should   be   there  ?      Tell   me 
that.' 

'  But  if  he  is  at  the  bottom  of  this,  where  is  he  ?  ' 
he  hazarded.  '  If  he  would  play  the  villain  with 
you ' 

'lie  would  play  the  thief/  she  cried  passionately,  'as 
he  has  played  the  hypocrite.     Oh,  it  is  vile  !  vile  ! ' 

'But — I  dou't  understand,'  Mr.  Thomasson  stam- 
mered ;  he  was  willing  to  hear  all  he  could. 

'  His  fortune,  his  lands,  all  he  has  in  the  world  are 
mine  ! '  she  cried.  '  Mine  !  And  he  goes  this  way  to 
recover  them  !  But  I  could  forgive  him  that,  ah,  I  could 
forgive  him  that,  but  I  cannot — forgive  him ' 

'What?'  he  said. 

'  His  love  ! '  she  cried  fiercely.  '  That  I  will  never 
forgive  him  !     Never  ! ' 

He  knew  that  she  spoke,  as  she  had  wept,  more  freely 
for  the  darkness.  He  fancied  that  she  was  writhing  on 
her  seat,  that  she  was  tearing  her  handkerchief  with  her 
hands.  'But — it  may  not  be  he,'  he  said  after  a  silence 
broken  only  by  the  rumble  of  wheels  and  the  steady 
trampling  of  the  horses. 

'  It  is  ! '  she  cried.     '  It  is  ! ' 

'  It  may  not ' 

^  I  say  it  is  ! '  she  repeated  in  a  kind  of  fury  of  rage, 
shame,  and  impatience.  '  Do  you  think  that  I  who  loved 
him,  I  whom  he  fooled  to  the  top  of  my  pride,  judge  him 
too  harshly  ?  I  tell  you  if  an  angel  from  heaven  had  wit- 
nessed against  him  I  would  have  laughed  the  tale  to  scorn. 
But  I  have  seen — I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes.  The 
man  who  came  to  the  door  and  threatened  us  had  lost  a 
joint  of  the  fore-finger.  Yesterday  I  saw  that  man  with 
him  ;  I  saw  the  hand  that  held  the  pistol  to-day  give  liim 
a  note  yesterday.  I  saw  him  read  the  note,  and  I  saw 
him  point  me  out  to  the  man  who  bore  it — that  he  might 


IN  THE  CARRIAGE  211 

know  to-day  whom  he  was  to  seize  !     Oh  shame  !     Shame 
on  him  ! '     And  she  burst  into  fresh  weeping. 

At  that  moment  the  cliaise,  which  had  been  proceed- 
ing for  some  time  at  a  more  sober  pace,  swerved  sharply 
to  one  side;  it  appeared  to  sweep  round  a  corner,  jolted 
over  a  rough  patch  of  ground,  and  came  to  a  stand. 


CHAPTEE  XXII 

FACILIS    DESCEXSUS 

Let  not  those  who  would  judge  her  harshl\'  forget  that 
Julia,  to  an  impulsive  and  passionate  nature,  added  a 
special  and  notable  disadvantage.  She  had  been  educated 
in  a  sphere  alien  from  that  in  which  she  now  moved.  A 
girl,  brought  up  as  Sir  George's  cousin  and  among  her 
equals,  would  have  known  him  to  be  incapable  of  treach- 
ery as  black  as  this.  Such  a  girl,  certified  of  his  love, 
not  only  by  his  words  and  looks  but  by  her  own  self- 
respect  and  pride,  would  have  shut  her  eyes  to  the  most 
pregnant  facts  and  the  most  cogent  inferences;  and 
scorned  all  her  senses,  one  by  one,  rather  than  believe 
him  guilty.  She  would  have  felt,  rightly  or  wrongly, 
that  the  thing  was  impossible;  and  would  have  believed 
everything  in  the  world,  yes,  everything,  possible  or  im- 
possible— yet  never  that  he  had  lied  when  he  told  her 
that  he  loved  her. 

But  Julia  had  been  bred  in  a  lower  condition,  not  far 
removed  from  that  of  the  Pamela  to  whose  good  fortune 
she  had  humbly  likened  her  own;  among  peoj^le  who 
regarded  a  Macaroni  or  a  man  of  fashion  as  a  wolf  ever 
seeking  to  devour.  To  distrust  a  gentleman  and  repel 
his  advances  had  been  one  of  the  first  lessons  instilled 
into  her  opening  mind;  nor  had  she  more  than  emerged 
from  childhood  before  she  knew  that  a  laced  coat  fore- 
went destruction,  and  held  the  weaier  of  it  a  cozener, 
who  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  kept  no  faith 


F AC  ILLS  DESCENSUS  213 

with  a  woman  beneath  him,  but  lived  only  to  break  hearts 
and  bring  grey  hairs  to  the  grave. 

Out  of  this  fixed  belief  she  had  been  jolted  by  the  up- 
heaval that  placed  her  on  a  level  with  Sir  George.  Per- 
suaded that  the  convention  no  longer  applied  to  herself, 
she  had  given  the  rein  to  her  fancy  and  her  girlish 
romance,  no  less  than  to  her  generosity;  she  had  indulged 
in  delicious  visions,  and  seen  them  grow  real;  nor  probably 
in  all  St.  James's  was  there  a  happier  woman  than  Julia 
when  she  found  herself  possessed  of  this  lover  of  the  pro- 
hibited class;  who  to  the  charms  and  attractions,  the  nice- 
ness  and  refinement,  which  she  had  been  bred  to  consider 
beyond  her  reach,  added  a  devotion,  the  more  delightful 
— since  he  believed  her  to  be  only  what  she  seemed — as  it 
lay  in  her  power  to  reward  it  amjily.  Some  women  would 
have  swooned  with  joy  over  such  a  conquest  effected  in 
such  circumstances.  What  wonder  that  Julia  was  deaf  to 
the  warnings  and  surmises  of  Mr.  Fishwick,  whom  delay 
and  the  magnitude  of  the  stakes  rendered  suspicious,  as 
well  as  to  the  misgivings  of  old  Mrs.  Masterson,  slow  to 
grasp  a  new  order  of  things  ?  It  would  have  been  strange 
had  she  listened  to  either,  when  youth,  and  wealth,  and 
love  all  beckoned  one  way. 

But  now,  now  in  the  horror  and  darkness  of  the  post- 
chaise,  the  lawyer's  warnings  and  the  old  woman's  mis- 
givings returned  on  her  with  crushing  weight;  and  more 
and  heavier  than  these,  her  old  belief  in  the  heartlessness, 
the  perfidy  of  the  man  of  rank.  At  the  statement  that  a 
man  of  the  class  with  whom  she  had  commonly  mixed 
could  so  smile,  while  he  played  the  villain,  as  to  deceive 
not  only  her  eyes  but  her  heart — she  would  have  laughed. 
But  on  the  mind  that  lay  behind  the  smooth  and  elegant 
mask  of  a  gentleman'' s  face  she  had  no  lights;  or  only  the 
old  lights  which  showed  it  desperately  wicked.  Apply- 
ing these  to  the  circumstances,  what  a  lurid  glare  they 


214  THE  CASTLE  INN 

shed  on  his  behaviour  !  How  quickly,  how  suspiciously 
quickly,  had  he  succumbed  to  her  charms  !  How  abruptly 
had  his  insouciance  changed  to  devotion,  his  impertinence 
to  respect  !  How  obtuse,  how  strangely  dull  had  he  been 
in  the  matter  of  her  claims  and  her  identity  !  Finally, 
with  what  a  smiling  visage  had  he  lured  her  to  her  doom, 
showed  her  to  his  tools,  settled  to  a  nicety  the  least  detail 
of  the  crime  ! 

More  weighty  than  any  one  fact,  the  thing  he  had  said 
to  her  on  the  staircase  at  Oxford  came  back  to  her  mind. 
'  If  you  were  a  lady,'  he  had  lisped  in  smiling  insolence, 
'I  would  kiss  you  and  make  you  my  wife.'  In  face  of 
those  words,  she  had  been  rash  enough  to  think  that  she 
could  bend  him,  ignorant  that  she  was  more  than  she 
seemed,  to  her  purpose.  She  had  quoted  those  very  words 
to  him  when  she  had  had  it  in  her  mind  to  surrender — 
the  sweetest  surrender  in  the  world.  And  all  the  time 
he  had  been  fooling  her  to  the  top  of  her  bent.  All  the 
time  he  had  known  who  she  was  and  been  plotting  against 
her  devilishly — appointing  hour  and  place  and — and  it 
was  all  over. 

It  was  all  over.  The  sunny  visions  of  love  and  joy  were 
done  !  It  was  all  over.  When  the  sharp,  fierce  pain  of 
the  knife  had  done  its  worst,  the  consciousness  of  that 
remained  a  dead  weight  on  her  brain.  When  the  parox- 
ysm of  weeping  had  worn  itself  out,  yet  brought  no  relief 
to  her  passionate  nature,  a  kind  of  apathy  succeeded. 
She  cared  nothing  where  she  was  or  what  became  of  her; 
the  worst  had  happened,  the  worst  been  sufEered.  To  be 
betrayed,  cruelly,  heartlessly,  without  scruple  or  care  by 
those  we  love — is  there  a  sharper  pain  than  this  ?  She 
had  sufEered  that,  she  was  sufEering  it  still.  What  did 
the  rest  matter? 

Mr.  Thomasson  might  have  undeceived  her,  but  the 
sudden  stoppage  of  the  chaise  had  left  no  place  in  the 


FAGILIS  DESCENSUS  315 

tutor's  mind  for  aught  but  terror..  At  any  moment,  now 
the  chaise  was  at  a  stand,  the  door  might  open  and  he 
be  hauled  out  to  meet  the  fury  of  his  pupil's  eye,  and 
feel  the  smart  of  his  brutal  whip.  It  needed  no  more  to 
sharpen  Mr.  Thomasson's  long  ears — his  eyes  werG  use- 
less; but  for  a  time  crouching  in  his  corner  and  scarce 
daring  to  breathe,  he  heard  only  the  confused  muttering 
of  several  men  talking  at  a  distance.  Presently  the 
speakers  came  nearer,  he  caught  the  click  of  flint  on 
steel,  and  a  bright  gleam  of  light  entered  the  chaise 
through  a  crack  in  one  of  the  shutters.  The  men  had 
lighted  a  lamp. 

It  was  only  a  slender  shaft  that  entered,  but  it  fell 
athwart  the  girl's  face  and  showed  him  her  closed  eyes. 
She  lay  back  in  her  corner,  her  cheeks  colourless,  an 
expression  of  dull,  hopeless  suffering  stamped  on  her 
features.  She  did  not  move  or  open  her  eyes,  and  the 
tutor  dared  not  speak  lest  his  words  should  be  heard  out- 
side. But  he  looked,  having  nothing  to  check  him,  and 
looked;  and  in  spite  of  his  fears  and  his  preoccupation, 
the  longer  he  looked  the  deeper  was  the  impression  which 
her  beauty  made  on  his  senses. 

He  could  hear  no  more  of  the  men's  talk  than  muttered 
grumblings  plentifully  bestrewn  with  curses;  and  wonder 
what  was  forward  and  why  they  remained  inactive  grew 
more  and  more  upon  him.  At  length  he  rose  and  applied 
his  eyes  to  the  crack  that  admitted  the  light;  but  he  could 
distinguish  nothing  outside,  the  lamp,  which  was  close 
to  the  window,  blinding  him.  At  times  he  caught  the 
clink  of  a  bottle,  and  fancied  that  the  men  were  supping; 
but  he  knew  \  othing  for  certain,  and  by-and-by  the  light 
was  put  out.  A  brief — and  agonising — period  of  silence 
followed,  during  which  he  thought  that  he  caught  the 
distant  tramp  of  horses;  but  he  had  heard  the  same 
sound  before,  it  might  be  the  beating  of  his  heart,  and 


216  THE  CASTLE  INN 

before  he  could  decide,  oaths  and  exclamations  broke  the 
silence,  and  there  was  a  sudden  bustle.  In  less  than  a 
minute  the  chaise  lurched  forward,  a  whip  cracked,  and 
they  took  the  road  again. 

The  tutor  breathed  more  freely,  and,  rid  of  the  fear 
of  being  overheard,  regained  a  little  of  his  unctuousness. 
'  My  dear  good  lady,'  he  said,  moving  a  trifle  nearer  to 
Julia,  and  even  making  a  timid  plunge  for  her  hand, 
'  you  must  not  give  way.  I  protest  you  must  not  give 
way.  Depend  on  me  !  Dej^end  on  me,  and  all  will  be 
well.  I — oh  dear,  what  a  bumji  !  I ' — this  as  he  re- 
treated precipitately  to  his  corner — '  I  fear  we  are  stop- 
ping ! ' 

They  were,  but  only  for  an  instant,  that  the  lamps 
might  be  lighted.  Then  the  chaise  rolled  on  again,  but 
from  the  way  in  which  it  jolted  and  bounded,  shaking  its 
passengers  this  Avay  and  that,  it  was  evident  that  it  no 
longer  kept  the  main  road.  The  moment  this  became 
clear  to  Mr.  Thomasson  his  courage  vanished  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  appeared. 

'  Where  are  they  taking  us?  '  he  cried,  risiug  and  sit- 
ting down  again;  and  peering  first  this  way  and  then  the 
other.  '  My  G — d,  we  are  undone  !  We  shall  be  mur- 
dered— I  know  we  shall  !  Oh  dear  !  what  a  jolt  !  They 
are  taking  us  to  some  cut-throat  place  !  There  again  ! 
Didn't  you  feel  it  ?  Don't  you  understand,  woman  ?  Oh, 
Lord,'  he  continued,  piteously  wringing  his  hands,  '  why 
did  I  mix  myself  up  with  this  trouble  ? ' 

She  did  not  answer,  and  enraged  by  her  silence  and 
insensibility,  the  cowardly  tutor  could  have  found  it  in 
his  heart  to  strike  her.  Fortunately  the  ray  of  light 
which  now  penetrated  the  carriage  suggested  an  idea 
which  he  hastened  to  carry  out.  He  had  no  paper,  and, 
given  paper,  he  had  no  ink;  but  falling  back  on  what  he 
had,  he  lugged  out  his  snuff-box  and  pen-knife,  and  hold- 


FACILIS  DESCEXSUS  217 

iug  the  box  in  the  ray  of  light,  and  himself  as  still  as  the 
road  permitted,  he  set  to  work,  laboriously  and  with  set 
teeth,  to  scrawl  on  the  bottom  of  the  box  the  message  of 
which  Ave  know.  To  address  it  to  Mr.  Fishwick  and  sign 
it  Julia  were  natural  precautious,  since  he  knew  that  the 
girl,  and  not  he,  would  be  the  object  of  pursuit.  When 
he  had  finished  his  task,  which  was  no  light  one — the 
road  growing  worse  and  the  carriage  shaking  more  and 
more — he  went  to  thrust  the  box  under  the  door,  which 
fitted  ill  at  the  bottom.  But  stooping  to  remove  the 
straw,  he  reflected  that  probably  the  road  they  were  in 
was  a  country  lane,  where  the  box  would  be  difficult  to 
find;  and  in  a  voice  trembling  with  fear  and  impatience, 
he  called  to  the  girl  to  give  him  her  black  kerchief. 

She  did  not  ask  him  why  or  for  what,  but  complied 
without  opening  her  eyes.  No  words  could  have  described 
her  state  more  eloquently. 

He  wrapped  the  thing  loosely  in  the  kerchief — which 
he  calculated  would  catch  the  passing  eye  more  easily 
than  the  box — and  knotted  the  ends  together.  But  when 
he  went  to  push  the  package  under  the  door,  it  proved 
too  bulky;  and,  with  an  exclamation  of  rage,  he  untied 
it,  and  made  it  up  anew  and  more  tightly.  At  last  he 
thought  that  he  had  got  it  right,  and  he  stooped  to  feel 
for  the  crack;  but  the  carriage,  which  had  been  travelling 
more  and  more  heavily  and  slowly,  came  to  a  sudden 
standstill,  and  in  a  panic  he  sat  up,  dropping  the  box 
and  thrusting  the  straw  over  it  with  his  foot. 

He  had  scarcely  done  this  when  the  door  was  opened, 
and  the  masked  man,  who  had  threatened  them  before, 
thrust  in  his  head.  '  Come  out  ! '  he  said  curtly,  address- 
ing the  tutor,  who  was  the  nearer.  '  And  be  sharp 
about  it  ! ' 

But  Mr.  Thomasson's  eyes,  peering  through  the  door- 
way, sought  in  vain  the  least  sign  of  house  or  village. 


218  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Beyond  the  yellow  glare  cast  by  the  lamp  on  the  wet  road, 
he  saw  nothing  but  darkness,  night,  and  the  gloomy 
shapes  of  trees;  and  he  hung  back.  'No,'  he  said,  his 
voice  quavering  with  fear.  '  I — my  good  man,  if  you  will 
promise ' 

The  man  swore  a  frightful  oath.  '  None  of  your 
tongue  ! '  he  cried,  '  but  out  with  you  unless  you  want 
your  throat  cut.  You  cursed,  whining,  psalm-singing 
sniveller,  you  don't  know  when  you  are  well  off  !  Out 
with  you  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  waited  for  no  more,  but  stumbled  out, 
shaking  with  fright. 

'  And  you  !  '  the  ruffian  continued,  addressing  the  girl, 
'  unless  you  want  to  be  thrown  out  the  same  way  you 
were  thrown  in  !  The  sooner  I  see  your  back,  my  sulky 
Madam,  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased.  No  more  meddling 
with  petticoats  for  me  !  This  comes  of  working  with  fine 
gentlemen,  say  I  ! ' 

Julia  was  but  half  roused.  '  Am  I — to  get  out  ?  '  she 
said  dully. 

'  Ay  you  are  !  By  G — d,  you  are  a  cool  one  ! '  the 
man  continued,  watching  her  in  a  kind  of  admiration,  as 
she  rose  and  stepped  by  him  like  one  in  a  dream.  '  And 
a  pretty  one  for  all  your  temper  !  The  master  is  not 
here,  but  the  man  is;  and  if ' 

'  Stow  it,  you  fool  ! '  cried  a  voice  from  the  darkness, 
'  and  get  aboard  !  ' 

'Who  said  anything  else?'  the  ruffian  retorted,  but 
with  a  look  that,  had  Julia  been  more  sensible  of  it,  must 
have  chilled  her  blood.  'Who  said  anything  else?  So 
there  you  are,  both  of  you,  and  none  the  worse,  I'll  take 
my  davy  !     Lash  away,  Tim  !     Make  the  beggars  fly  ! ' 

As  he  uttered  the  last  words  he  sprang  on  the  wheel, 
and  before  the  tutor  could  believe  his  good  fortune,  or 
feel  assured  that  there  was  not  some  cruel  deceit  playing 


FACILIS  DESCENSUS  219 

on  him^  the  carriage  splashed  up  the  mud,  and  rattled 
away.  In  a  trice  the  lights  grew  small  and  were  gone, 
and  the  two  were  left  standing  side  by  side  in  the  dark- 
ness. On  one  hand  a  mass  of  trees  rose  high  above  them, 
blotting  out  the  grey  sky;  on  the  other  the  faint  outline 
of  a  low  wall  appeared  to  divide  the  lane  in  which  they 
stood — the  mud  rising  rapidly  about  their  shoes — from  a 
flat   aguish  expanse  over  which  the  night  hung  low. 

It  was  a  strange  position,  but  neither  of  the  two  felt 
this  to  the  full;  Mr.  Thomasson  in  his  thankfulness  that 
at  any  cost  he  had  eluded  Mr.  Dunborough's  vengeance, 
Julia  because  at  the  moment  she  cared  not  what  became 
of  her.  Naturally,  however,  Mr.  Thomasson,  whose  sat- 
isfaction knew  no  drawback  save  that  of  their  present 
condition,  and  who  had  to  congratulate  himself  on  a  risk 
safely  run,  and  a  good  friend  gained,  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

'  My  dear  young  lady,'  he  said,  in  an  insinuating  tone 
very  different  from  that  in  which  lie  had  called  for  her 
kerchief,  '  I  vow  I  am  more  thankful  than  I  can  say,  that 
I  was  able  to  come  to  your  assistance  !  I  shudder  to  think 
what  those  ruffians  might  not  have  done  had  you  been 
alone,  and — and  unprotected  !  Now  I  trust  all  danger 
is  over.  We  have  only  to  find  a  house  in  which  we  can 
pass  the  night,  and  to-morrow  we  may  laugh  at  our 
troubles  ! ' 

She  turned  her  head  towards  him.  '  Laugh  ?  '  she  said, 
and  a  sob  took  her  in  the  throat. 

He  felt  himself  set  back;  then  remembered  the  delu- 
sion under  which  she  lay,  and  went  to  dispel  it — pom- 
pously. But  his  evil  angel  was  at  his  shoulder;  again  at 
the  last  moment  he  hesitated.  Something  in  the  de- 
spondency of  the  girl's  figure,  in  the  hopelessness  of  her 
tone,  in  the  intensity  of  the  grief  that  choked  her  utter- 
ance, wrought  witli  tlie  remem])rance  of  her  beauty   and 


220  THE  CASTLE  INN 

her  disorder  in  the  coacli,  to  set  his  crafty  mind  working 
in  a  new  direction.  He  saw  that  she  was  for  the  time 
utterly  hopeless;  utterly  heedless  what  became  of  herself. 
That  would  not  last;  but  his  cunning  told  him  that  with 
returning  sensibility  would  come  pique,  resentment,  the 
desire  to  be  avenged.  In  such  a  case  one  man  was  some- 
times as  good  as  another.  It  was  impossible  to  say  what 
she  might  not  do  or  be  induced  to  do,  if  full  advantage 
were  taken  of  a  moment  so  exceptional.  Fifty  thousand 
pounds  !  And  her  fresh  young  beauty  !  What  an  open- 
ing it  was  !  The  way  lay  far  from  clear,  the  means  were 
to  find;  but  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady,  and  Mr. 
Thomasson  had  known  strange  things  come  to  pass. 

He  was  quick  to  choose  his  part.  '  Come,  child,'  he 
said,  assuming  a  kind  of  paternal  authority.  '  At  least 
we  must  find  a  roof.     AYe  cannot  spend  the  night  here.' 

'  No,'  she  said  dully,  '  I  suppose  not.' 

'  So — shall  we  go  this  way  ?  ' 

'As  you  please,'  she  answered. 

They  started,  but  had  not  moved  far  along  the  miry 
road  before  she  spoke  again.  *  Do  you  know,'  she  asked 
drearily,  '  why  they  set  us  down  ?  ' 

He  was  puzzled  himself  as  to  that,  but,  '  They  may 
have  thought  that  the  pursuit  was  gaining  on  them,'  he 
answered,  '  and  become  alarmed.'  Which  was  in  part  the 
truth;  though  ]\[r.  Dunborough's  failure  to  appear  at  the 
rendezvous  had  been  the  main  factor  in  determining 
the  men. 

'  Pursuit  ?  '  she  said.     '  Who  would  pursue  us  ?  ' 

'Mr.  Fish  wick,'  he  suggested. 

'Ah!'  she  answered  bitterly;  'he  might.  If  I  had 
listened  to  him  !     If  I  had — but  it  is  over  now.' 

'  I  wish  we  could  see  a  light,'  Mr.  Thomasson  said, 
anxiously  looking  into  the  darkness,  'or  a  house  of  any 
kind.     I  wonder  where  wc  are.' 


FACILIS  DESCENSUS  231 

She  did  not  speak. 

'I  do  not  know — even  what  time  it  is/  he  continued 
pettishly;  and  he  shivered.  'Take  care!'  She  had 
stumbled  and  nearly  fallen.  '  AVill  you  be  pleased  to  take 
my  arm,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  proceed  more  quickly. 
I  am  afraid  that  your  feet  are  wet.' 

Absorbed  in  her  thoughts  she  did  not  answer. 

'  However  the  ground  is  rising,'  he  said.  *  By-and-by 
it  will  be  drier  under  foot.' 

They  were  an  odd  couple  to  be  trudging  a  strange  road, 
in  an  unknown  country,  at  the  dark  hour  of  the  night. 
The  stars  must  have  twinkled  to  see  them.  Mr.  Thom- 
asson  began  to  own  the  influence  of  solitude,  and  longed 
to  pat  the  hand  she  had  passed  through  his  arm — it  was 
the  sort  of  caress  that  came  natural  to  him;  bnt  for  the 
time  discretion  withheld  him.  He  had  another  tempta- 
tion :  to  refer  to  the  past,  to  the  old  past  at  the  College, 
to  the  part  he  had  taken  at  the  inn,  to  make  some  sort  of 
apology;  but  again  discretion  intervened,  and  he  went 
on  in  silence. 

As  he  had  said,  the  ground  was  rising;  but  the  outlook 
was  cheerless  enough,  nntil  the  moon  on  a  sudden  emerged 
from  a  bank  of  cloud  and  disclosed  the  landscape.  Mr. 
Thomasson  uttered  a  cry  of  relief.  Fifty  paces  before 
them  the  low  wall  on  the  right  of  the  lane  was  broken 
by  a  pillared  gateway,  whence  the  dark  thread  of  an 
avenue  trending  across  the  moonlit  flat  seemed  to  point 
the  way  to  a  house. 

The  tutor  pushed  the  gate  open.  '  Diana  favours  you, 
child,'  he  said,  with  a  smirk  which  was  lost  on  Julia. 
'  It  was  well  she  emerged  when  she  did,  for  now  in  a  few 
minutes  we  shall  be  safe  under  a  roof.  'Tis  a  gentle- 
man's house  too,  unless  I  mistake.' 

A  more  timid  or  a  more  suspicious  woman  might  have 
refused  to  leave  the  road,  or  to  tempt  the  chances  of  the 


223  THE  CASTLE  INN 

dark  avenue,  in  his  company.  But  Julia,  whose  thoughts 
were  bitterly  employed,  complied  without  thought  or 
hesitation,  perhaps  unconsciously.  The  gate  swung  to 
behind  them,  and  they  plodded  a  hundred  yards  between 
the  trees  arm  in  arm;  then  one  and  then  a  second  light 
twinkled  out  in  front.  These  as  they  approached  were 
found  to  proceed  from  two  windows  in  the  ground  floor 
of  a  large  house.  The  travellers  had  not  advanced  many 
paces  towards  them  before  the  peaks  of  three  gables  rose 
above  them,  van  dyking  the  sky  and  docking  the  last 
sparse  branches  of  the  elms. 

Mr.  Thomassou's  exclamation  of  relief,  as  he  surveyed 
the  building,  was  cut  short  by  the  harsh  rattle  of  a  chain, 
followed  by  the  roar  of  a  watch-dog,  as  it  bounded  from 
the  kennel;  in  a  second  a  horrid  raving  and  baying,  as 
of  a  score  of  hounds,  awoke  the  night.  The  startled 
tutor  came  near  to  dropping  his  companion's  hand,  but 
fortunately  the  threshold,  dimly  pillared  and  doubtfully 
Palladian,  was  near,  and  resisting  the  impulse  to  put  him- 
self back  to  back  with  the  girl — for  the  protection  of  his 
calves  rather  than  her  skirts — the  reverend  gentleman 
hurried  to  occupy  it.  Once  in  that  coign  of  refuge,  he 
hammered  on  the  door  with  the  energy  of  a  frightened 
man. 

When  his  anxiety  permitted  him  to  pause,  a  voice  made 
itself  heard  within,  cursing  the  dogs  and  roaring  for 
Jarvey.  A  line  of  a  hunting  song,  bawled  at  the  top  of 
a  musical  voice  and  ending  in  a  shrill  '  View  Halloa  ! ' 
followed;  then  'To  them,  beauties;  to  them  !'  and  the 
crash  of  an  overturned  chair.  Again  the  house  echoed 
with  '  Jarvey,  Jarvey  ! '  on  top  of  which  the  door  opened 
and  an  elderly  man-servant,  with  his  wig  set  on  askew, 
his  waistcoat  unbuttoned,  and  his  mouth  twisted  into  a 
tipsy  smile,  confronted  the  wanderers. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BULLY     POMEROT 

The  man  held  a  candle  in  a  hand  that  wavered  and 
strewed  tallow  broadcast;  the  light  from  this  for  a  mo- 
ment dazzled  the  visitors.  Then  the  draught  of  air 
extinguished  it,  and  looking  over  the  servant's  shoulder 
— he  was  short  and  squat — Mr.  Thomasson's  anxious  eyes 
had  a  glimpse  of  a  spacious  old-fashioned  hall,  panelled 
and  furnished  in  oak,  with  here  a  blazon,  and  tliere  antlers 
or  a  stuffed  head.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  hall  a  wide 
easy  staircase  rose,  to  branch  at  the  first  landing  into  two 
flights,  that  returning  formed  a  gallery  round  the  apart- 
ment. Between  the  door  and  the  foot  of  the  staircase, 
in  the  warm  glow  of  an  unseen  fire,  stood  a  small  heavily- 
carved  oak  table,  with  Jacobean  legs,  like  stuffed  trunk- 
hose.  This  was  strewn  with  cards,  liquors,  glasses,  and 
a  china  punch-bowl;  but  especially  with  cards,  which 
lay  everywhere,  not  only  on  the  table,  but  in  heaps  and 
batches  beneath  and  around  it,  where  the  careless  hands 
of  the  players  had  flung  them. 

Yet,  for  all  these  cards,  the  players  were  only  two. 
One,  a  man  something  under  fort}^,  in  a  peach  coat  and 
black  satin  breeches,  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  his  eyes 
on  the  door  and  his  chair  lying  at  his  feet.  It  was  his 
voice  that  had  shouted  for  Jarvey  and  that  now  saluted 
the  arrivals  with  a  boisterous  '  Two  to  one  in  guineas,  it's 
a  catchpoll  !  D'ye  take  me,  my  lord  ? ' — the  while  he 
drummed  merrily  with  his  heels  on  a  leg  of  the  table. 


234  THE  CASTLE  INN 

His  companion,  an  exhausted  young  man,  thin  and  pale, 
remained  in  his  chair,  whicli  he  had  tilted  on  its  hinder 
feet;  and  contented  hiinself  with  staring  at  the  doorway. 

The  latter  was  our  old  friend.  Lord  Almeric  Doyley; 
but  neither  he  nor  Mr.  Thomasson  knew  one  another, 
until  the  tutor  had  advanced  some  paces  into  the  room. 
Then,  as  the  gentleman  in  the  peach  coat  cried,  '  Curse 
me,  if  it  isn't  a  parson  !  The  bet's  off  !  Off! '  Lord 
Almeric  dropped  his  hand  of  cards  on  the  table,  and 
opening  his  mouth  gasped  in  a  parox3^sm  of  dismay. 

'Oh,  Lord,' he  exclaimed,  at  last.  'Hold  me,  some 
one  !  If  it  isn't  Tommy  !  Oh,  I  say,'  he  continued, 
rising  and  speaking  in  a  tone  of  querulous  remonstrance, 
'  you  have  not  come  to  tell  me  the  old  man's  gone  !  And 
I'd  pitted  him  against  Bedford  to  live  to — to — but  it's 
like  him  !  It  is  like  him,  and  monstrous  unfeeling.  I 
vow  and  protest  it  is  !  Eh  !  oh,  it  is  not  that  !  Hal — 
loa  ! ' 

He  paused  there,  his  astonishment  greater  even  than 
that  which  he  had  felt  on  recognising  the  tutor.  His 
eye  had  lighted  on  Julia,  whose  figure  was  now  visible  on 
the  threshold. 

His  companion  did  not  notice  this.  He  was  busy  iden- 
tifying the  tutor.  '  Gad  !  it  is  old  Thomasson  ! '  he 
cried,  for  he  too  had  been  at  Pembroke.  ^And  a  petti- 
coat !  And  a  petticoat!'  he  repeated.  'Well,  I  am 
spun  ! ' 

The  tutor  raised  his  hands  in  astonishment.  '  Lord  ! ' 
he  said,  with  a  fair  show  of  enthusiasm,  '  do  I  really  see 
my  old  friend  and  pupil,  Mr.  Pomeroy  of  Bastwick  ?  ' 

'  Who  put  the  cat  in  your  valise  ?  When  you  got  to 
London — kittens?     You  do,  Tommy.' 

'  I  thought  so  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  answered  effusively. 
'  I  was  sure  of  it  !  I  never  forget  a  face  when  my — my 
heart  has  once  gone  out  to  it  !     And  you,  my  dear,  my 


BULLY  PCmEROY  225 

very  clear  Lord  Almeric,  there  is  no  danger  I  shall 
ever ' 

'But,  crib  me,  Tommy,'  Lord  Almeric  shrieked,  cut- 
ting him  short  without  ceremony,  so  great  was  his  aston- 
ishment, '  it's  the  Little  Masterson  ! ' 

'  You  old  fox  !  '  Mr.  Pomeroy  chimed  in,  shaking  his 
finger  at  the  tutor  with  leering  solemnity;  he,  belonging 
to  an  older  generation  at  the  College,  did  not  know  her. 
Then,  'The  Little  Masterson,  is  it?'  he  continued,  ad- 
vancing to  the  girl,  and  saluting  her  with  mock  cere- 
mony. 'Among  friends,  I  suppose?  Well,  my  dear, 
for  the  future  be  pleased  to  count  me  among  them. 
Welcome  to  my  poor  house  !  And  here's  to  bettering 
your  taste — for,  fie,  my  love,  old  men  are  naughty.  Have 
naught  to  do  with  them  ! '  And  he  laughed  wickedly. 
He  was  a  tall,  heavy  man,  Avith  a  hard,  bullying,  sneering 
face;  a  Dunborough  grown  older. 

'  Hush  !  my  good  sir.  Hush  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  cried 
anxiously,  after  making  more  than  one  futile  effort  to 
stop  him.  Between  his  respect  for  his  companion,  and 
the  deference  in  which  he  held  a  lord,  the  tutor  was  in 
agony.  '  My  good  sir,  my  dear  Lord  Almeric,  you  are 
in  error,'  he  continued  strenuously.  'You  mistake,  I 
assure  you,  you  mistake ' 

'  Do  we,  by  Gad  !  '  Mr.  Pomeroy  cried,  winking  at 
Julia.  'Well,  you  and  I,  my  dear,  don't,  do  we?  We 
understand  one  another  very  AvelL' 

The  girl  only  answered  by  a  fierce  look  of  contempt. 
But  Mr.  Thomasson  was  in  despair.  '  You  do  not,  in- 
deed ! '  he  cried,  almost  wringing  his  hands.  '  This  lady 
has  lately  come  into  a — a  fortune,  and  to-night  was 
carried  off  by  some  villains  from  the  Castle  Lm  at 
Marlborough  in  a — in  a  post-chaise.  I  was  fortunately 
on  the  spot  to  give  her  such  protection  as  I  could,  but 
the  villains  overpoAvered  mo,  and  to  pi'ovent  my  giving 
15 


226  THE  CASTLE  INN 

the  alarm,  as  I  take  it.  bundled  me  into  the  chaise 
Avith  her.' 

'  Oh,  come,'  said  Mr.  Pomeroy,  grinning.  "  Yon  don't 
expect  ns  to  swallow  that  ?  ' 

'It  is  true,  as  I  live,'  the  tutor  protested.  'Every 
word  of  it.' 

'  Then  how  come  you  here  ?  ' 

'  Not  far  from  your  gate,  for  no  reason  that  I  can  un- 
derstand, they  turned  us  out,  and  made  off.' 

'  Honest  Abraham  ? '  Lord  Almeric  asked  ;  he  had 
listened  open-mouthed. 

'  Every  word  of  it,'  the  tutor  answered. 

'  Then,  my  dear,  if  you  have  a  fortune,  sit  down,'  cried 
Mr.  Pomeroy  ;  and  seizing  a  chair  he  handed  it  with 
exaggerated  gallantry  to  Julia,  who  still  remained  near 
the  door,  frowning  darkly  at  the  trio;  neither  ashamed 
nor  abashed,  but  jiroudly  and  coldly  contemptuous. 
'  Make  yourself  at  home,  my  pretty,'  he  continued  famil- 
iarly, '  for  if  you  have  a  fortune  it  is  the  only  one  in  this 
house,  and  a  monstrous  uncommon  thing.  Is  it  not,  my 
lord  ? ' 

'Lord  !  I  vow  it  is  ! '  the  other  drawled;  and  then, 
taking  advantage  of  the  moment  when  Julia's  attention 
was  engaged  elsewhere — she  dumbly  refused  to  sit,  '  Where 
is  Dunborough  ?  '  my  lord  muttered. 

'Heaven  knows,'  Mr.  Thomasson  whispered,  with  a 
wink  that  postponed  inquiry.  '  What  is  more  to  the  pur- 
pose,' lie  continued  aloud,  '  if  I  may  venture  to  make  the 
suggestion  to  your  lordship  and  Mr.  Pomeroy,  Miss  Mas- 
terson  has  been  much  distressed  and  fatigued  this  even- 
ing. If  there  is  a  respectable  elderly  woman  in  the  house, 
therefore,  to  whose  care  you  could  entrust  her  for  the 
night,  it  were  well.' 

'There  is  old  Mother  Olney,'  J\Ir.  Pomeroy  answered, 
assenting  with  a  readier  grace  than   the  tutor  expected, 


BULLY  P03IER0Y  327 

'  who  locked  herself  up  an  hour  ago  for  fear  of  us  young 
bloods.  She  should  be  old  and  ugly  enough  !  Here  you, 
Jarvey,  go  and  kick  in  her  outworks,  and  bid  her  come 
down.' 

'Better  still,  if  I  may  suggest  it,'  said  the  tutor,  who 
was  above  all  things  anxious  to  be  rid  of  the  girl  before 
too  much  was  said — '  Might  not  your  servant  take  Miss 
above  stairs  to  this  good  woman — who  will  doubtless  see 
to  her  comfort  ?  Miss  Masterson  has  gone  through  some 
surprising  adventures  this  evening,  and  I  think  it  were 
better  if  you  allowed  her  to  withdraw  at  once,  Mr. 
Pomeroy.' 

'  Jarvey,  take  the  lady,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  cried.  '  A  sweet 
pretty  toad  she  is.  Here's  to  your  eyes  and  fortune, 
child  ! '  he  continued  with  an  impudent  grin;  and  filling 
his  glass  he  pledged  her  as  she  passed. 

After  that  he  stood  watching  while  Mr.  Thomasson 
opened  the  door  and  bowed  her  out;  and  this  done  and 
the  door  closed  after  her,  '  Lord,  what  ceremony  ! '  he 
said,  with  an  ugly  sneer.  '  Is't  real,  man,  or  are  you 
bubbling  her  ?  And  what  is  this  Cock-lane  story  of  a 
chaise  and  the  rest  ?  Out  with  it,  unless  you  want  to  be 
tossed  in  a  blanket.' 

'  True,  upon  my  honour  !  '  Mr.  Thomasson  asseverated.^ 

'  Oh,  but  Tommy,  the  fortune  ? '  Lord  Almeric  pro- 
tested seriously.     '  I  vow  you  are  sharping  us.' 

'  True  too,  my  lord,  as  I  hope  to  be  saved  ! ' 

'  True?  Oh,  but  it  is  too  monstrous  absurd,'  my  lord 
wailed.  '  The  Little  Masterson  ?  As  jjretty  a  little  tit  as 
was  to  be  found  in  all  Oxford.  The  Little  Masterson  a 
fortune  ? ' 

'  She  has  eyes  and  a  shape,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  admitted  gen- 
erously. '  For  the  rest,  what  is  the  figure,  Mr.  l^homas- 
son?  '  he  continued.     '  There  are  fortunes  and  fortunes.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  looked  at  the  gallery  above,  and  thence. 


228  THE  CASTLE  INN 

and  slyl}^  to  his  compauions  and  back  again  to  the  gal- 
lery; and  swallowed  something  that  rose  in  his  throat. 
At  length  he  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind  to  speak  the 
truth,  though  when  he  did  so  it  was  in  a  voice  little  above 
a  whisper.  '  Fifty  thousand,'  he  said,  and  looked  guiltily 
round  him. 

Lord  Almeric  rose  from  his  chair  as  if  on  springs. 
'  Oh,  I  protest  ! '  he  said.  '  You  are  roasting  us.  Fifty 
thousand  !     It's  a  bite  ?  ' 

But  Mr.  Thomasson  nodded.  'Fifty  thousand,'  he 
repeated  softly.     '  Fifty  thousand.' 

'  Pounds  ?  '  gasped  my  lord.     '  The  Little  Masterson  ?  ' 

The  tutor  nodded  again;  and  without  asking  leave, 
with  a  dogged  air  unlike  his  ordinary  bearing  when  he 
was  in  the  company  of  those  above  him,  he  drew  a  de- 
canter towards  him,  and  filling  a  glass  with  a  shaking 
hand  raised  it  to  his  lij^s  and  emj)tied  it.  The  three  were 
on  their  feet  round  the  table,  on  which  several  candles, 
luridly  lighting  up  their  faces,  still  burned;  while  others 
had  flickered  down,  and  smoked  in  the  guttering  sockets, 
among  the  empty  bottles  and  the  litter  of  cards.  In  one 
corner  of  the  table  the  lees  of  wine  had  run  upon  the 
oak,  and  dripped  to  the  floor',  and  formed  a  pool,  in  which 
a  broken  glass  lay  in  fragments  beside  the  overturned 
chair.  An  observant  eye  might  have  found  on  the  panels 
below  the  gallery  the  vacant  nails  and  dusty  lines  whence 
Lelys  and  Knellers,  Cuyps  and  Hondekoeters  had  looked 
down  on  two  generations  of  Pomeroys.  But  in  the  main 
the  disorder  of  the  scene  centred  in  tlie  small  table  and 
the  three  men  standing  ronnd  it;  a  lighted  group,  islanded 
in  the  shadows  of  the  hall. 

Mr.  Pomeroy  waited  with  impatience  until  Mr.  Thom- 
asson lowered  his  glass.  Then,  '  Let  us  have  the  story,' 
he  said.  '  A  guinea  to  a  China  orange  the  fool  is  trick- 
ing us.' 


BULLY  POME  ROY  229 

The  tutor  shook  his  head,  and  turned  to  Lord  Ahiieric. 
'  You  know  Sir  George  Soane,'  he  said.  '  Well,  my  lord, 
she  is  his  cousin.' 

'  Oh,  tally,  tally  ! '  my  lord  cried.  '  You — yon  are 
romancing,  Tommy  ! ' 

'  And  under  the  will  of  Sir  George's  grandfather  she 
takes  fifty  thousand  pounds,  if  she  make  good  her  claim 
within  a  certain  time  from  to-day.' 

'  Oh,  I  say,  you  are  romancing  ! '  my  lord  repeated, 
more  feebly.  '  You  know,  you  really  should  not  !  It  is 
too  uncommon  absurd.  Tommy.' 

'  It's  true  ! '  said  Mr.  Thomasson. 

'  What  ?  That  this  porter's  wench  at  Pembroke  has 
fifty  thousand  pounds?'  cried  Mr.  Pomeroy.  'She  is 
the  porter's  wench,  isn't  she?'  he  continued.  Some- 
thing had  sobered  him.  His  eyes  shone,  and  the  veins 
stood  out  on  his  forehead.  But  his  manner  was  concise 
and  harsh,  and  to  the  point. 

Mr.  Thomasson  glanced  at  him  stealthily,  as  one  game- 
ster scrutinises  another  over  the  cards.  '  She  is  Master- 
son,  the  porter's,  foster-child,'  he  said. 

'  But  is  it  certain  that  she  has  the  money  ?  '  the  other 
cried  rudely.  'Is  it  true,  man?  How  do  you  know? 
Is  it  public  iiro^^erty  ?  ' 

'  No,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered,  '  it  is  not  public  prop- 
erty. But  it  is  certain  and  it  is  true  ! '  Then,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  'I  saw  some  papers — by  accident,' 
he  said,  his  eyes  on  the  gallery. 

'  Oh,  d — n  your  accident  ! '  Mr.  Pomeroy  cried  brutally. 
'  You  are  very  fine  to-night.  You  were  not  used  to  be  a 
Methodist  !  Hang  it,  man,  we  know  you,'  he  continued 
violently,  '  and  this  is  not  all  !  Tliis  does  not  bring  you 
and  the  girl  tramping  the  country,  knocking  at  doors  at 
midnight  with  Cock-lane  stories  of  chaises  and  abductions. 
Come  to  it,  man,  or ' 


230  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Oh,  I  say,'  Lord  Almeric  protested  Aveakly.  '  Tommy 
is  an  honest  man  in  his  way,  and  you  are  too  stiff  with 
him.' 

'  D — n  him  !  my  lord;  let  him  come  to  the  point  then,' 
Mr.  Pomeroy  retorted  savagely.  '  Is  she  in  the  way  to 
get  the  money  ?  ' 

'  She  is,'  said  the  tutor  sullenly. 

'  Then  what  brings  her  here — with  you,  of  all  people  ?  ' 

'  I  will  tell  you  if  you  will  give  me  time,  Mr.  Pomeroy,' 
the  tutor  said  plaintively.  And  he  proceeded  to  describe 
in  some  detail  all  that  had  happened,  from  the  fons  et 
origo  mali — Mr.  Dunborough's  passion  for  the  girl — to 
the  stay  at  the  Castle  Inn,  the  abduction  at  Manton 
Corner,  the  strange  night  journey  in  the  chaise,  and  the 
stranger  release. 

When  he  had  done,  '  Sir  George  was  the  girl's  fancy- 
man,  then  ?  '  Pomeroy  said,  in  the  harsh  overbearing  tone 
he  had  suddenly  adopted. 

The  tutor  nodded. 

'  And  she  thinks  he  has  tricked  her  ?  ' 

'  But  for  that  and  the  humour  she  is  in,'  Mr.  Thomas- 
son  answered,  with  a  subtle  glance  at  the  other's  face, 
'  you  and  I  might  talk  here  till  Doomsday,  and  be  none 
the  better,  Mr.  Pomeroy.' 

His  frankness  provoked  Mr.  Pomeroy  to  greater  frank- 
ness. '  Consume  your  impertinence  !  '  he  cried.  '  Speak 
for  yourself.' 

'  She  is  not  that  kind  of  woman,'  said  Mr.  Thomasson 
lirmly. 

'  Kind  of  woman  ?  '  cried  Mr.  Pomeroy  furiously.  '  I 
am  this  kind  of  man.  Oh,  d — n  you  !  if  you  want  plain 
speaking  you  shall  have  it  !  She  has  fifty  thousand,  and 
she  is  in  my  house;  well,  I  am  this  kind  of  man  !  I'll 
not  let  that  money  go  out  of  the  house  without  having  a 
fling  at  it  !     It  is  the  devil's  luck  has  sent  her  here,  and 


BULLY  POME  ROY  231 

it  will  be  my  folly  will  send  her  away — if  she  goes.  Which 
she  does  not  if  I  am  the  kind  of  man  I  think  I  am.  So 
there  for  yon  !     There's  plain  speaking.' 

'Yon  don't  know  her,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered  dog- 
gedly. '  Mr.  Dunborongh  is  a  gentleman  of  mettle,  and 
he  conld  not  bend  her.' 

'  She  was  not  in  his  house  ! '  the  other  retorted,  with 
a  grim  laugh.  Then,  in  a  lower,  if  not  more  amicable 
tone,  '  Look  here,  man,'  he  continued,  '  d'ye  mean  to  say 
that  yon  had  not  something  of  this  kind  in  your  mind 
when  yon  knocked  at  this  door  ?  ' 

'I  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  cried,  virtuously  indignant. 

'  Ay,  yon  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  did  not  see  that 
here  was  a  chance  in  a  hundred  ?  In  a  thousand  ?  Ay, 
in  a  million  ?  Fifty  thousand  pounds  is  not  found  in  the 
road  any  day  ?  ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  grinned  in  a  sickly  fashion.  '  I  know 
that,'  he  said. 

'  Well,  what  is  your  idea?     What  do  you  want?  ' 

The  tutor  did  not  answer  on  the  instant,  but  after 
stealing  one  or  two  furtive  glances  at  Lord  Almeric, 
looked  down  at  the  table,  a  nervons  smile  distorting  his 
mouth.  At  length,  'I  want — her,'  he  said;  and  passed 
his  tongue  furtively  over  his  lips. 

'  The  girl  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Oh  Lord  ! '  said  Mr.  Pomeroy,  in  a  voice  of  disgust. 

But  the  ice  broken,  Mr.  Thomasson  had  more  to  say. 
'  Why  not?  '  he  said  plaintively.  '  I  brought  her  here — 
with  all  submission.  I  know  her,  and — and  am  a  friend 
of  hers.  If  she  is  fair  game  for  any  one,  she  is  fair  game 
for  me.  I  have  run  a  risk  for  her,'  he  continued  patheti- 
cally, and  touched  his  brow,  where  the  slight  cut  he  had 
received  in  the  struggle  with  Dun  borough's  men  showed 
below  the  border  of  his  wig,  '  and — and  for  that  matter. 


232  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Mr.  Pomeroy  is  not  the  only  man  Avho  has  bailiffs  to 
avoid.' 

*  Stuff  me,  Tommy,  if  I  am  not  of  your  opinion  ! '  cried 
Lord  Almeric.  And  he  struck  the  table  with  unusual 
energy. 

Pomeroy  turned  on  him  in  surprise  as  great  as  his  dis- 
gust. '  What  ?  '  he  cried.  '  You  would  give  the  girl 
and  her  money — fifty  thousand — to  this  old  hunks  ! ' 

'  I  ?  Not  I  !  I  would  have  her  myself  ! '  his  lordship 
answered  stoutly.  '  Come,  Pomeroy,  you  have  won  three 
hundred  of  me,  and  if  I  am  not  to  take  a  hand  at  this, 
I  shall  think  it  low  !  Monstrous  low  I  shall  think  it  ! ' 
he  repeated  in  the  tone  of  an  injured  person.  '  You 
know.  Pom,  I  want  money  as  well  as  another — want  it 
devilish  bad ' 

'  You  have  not  been  a  Sabbatarian,  as  I  was  for  two 
months  last  j^ear,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  retorted,  somewhat  cooled 
by  this  wholesale  rising  among  his  allies,  '  and  walked  out 
Sundays  only  for  fear  of  the  catchpolls.' 

'No,  but ' 

'  But  I  am  not  now,  either.  Is  that  it  ?  Why,  d'ye 
think,  because  I  pouched  six  hundred  of  Flitney's,  and 
three  of  yours,  and  set  the  mare  going  again,  it  will  last 
for  ever  ? ' 

'  No,  but  fair's  fair,  and  if  I  am  not  in  this,  it  is  low. 
It  is  low.  Pom,'  Lord  Almeric  continued,  sticking  to  his 
point  with  abnormal  spirit.  '  And  here  is  Tommy  will  tell 
you  the  same.     You  have  had  three  hundred  of  me ' 

'  At  cards,  dear  lad ;  at  cards, '  Mr.  Pomeroy  answered 
easily.  'But  this  is  not  cards.  Besides,' he  continued, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  and  pouncing  on  the  argument, 
'  we  cannot  all  marry  the  girl  ! ' 

'I  don't  know,'  my  lord  answered,  passing  his  fingers 
tenderly  through  his  wig.  '  I— I  don't  commit  myself 
to  that.' 


BULLY  POMEROY  233 

'  Well,  at  any  rate,  we  canuot  all  have  the  money  ! ' 
Pomeroy  replied,  with  sufficient  imj^atience. 

'  But  we  can  all  try  !     Can't  we.  Tommy  ?  ' 

Mr.  Thomasson's  face,  when  the  question  was  put  to 
him  in  that  form,  was  a  curious  study.  Mr.  Pomeroy 
had  spoken  aright  when  he  called  it  a  chance  in  a  hun- 
dred, in  a  thousand,  in  a  million.  It  was  a  chance,  at 
any  rate,  that  was  not  likely  to  come  in  Mr.  Thomasson's 
way  again.  True,  he  appreciated  more  correctly  than  the 
others  the  obstacles  in  the  way  of  success — the  girl's  strong 
will  and  wayward  temper;  but  he  knew  also  the  humour 
which  had  now  taken  hold  of  her,  and  how  likely  it  was 
that  it  might  lead  her  to  strange  lengths  if  the  right  man 
spoke  at  the  right  moment. 

The  very  fact  that  Mr.  Pomeroy  had  seen  the  chance 
and  gauged  the  possibilities,  gave  them  a  more  solid 
aspect  and  a  greater  reality  in  the  tutor's  mind.  Each 
moment  that  passed  left  him  less  willing  to  resign  jjre- 
tensions  which  were  no  longer  the  shadowy  creatures  of 
the  brain,  but  had  acquired  the  aspect  of  solid  claims — 
claims  made  his  by  skill  and  exertion. 

But  if  he  defied  Mi-.  Pomeroy,  how  would  he  stand  ? 
The  girl's  position  in  this  solitary  house,  apart  from  her 
friends,  was  half  the  battle;  in  a  sneaking  way,  though 
he  shrank  from  facing  the  fact,  he  knew  that  she  was  at 
their  mercy;  as  much  at  their  mercy  as  if  they  had 
planned  the  abduction  from  the  first.  Without  Mr. 
Pomeroy,  therefore,  the  master  of  the  house  and  the 
strongest  spirit  of  the  three 

He  got  no  farther,  for  at  this  point  Lord  Almeric 
repeated  his  question;  and  the  tutor,  meeting  Pomeroy 's 
bullying  eye,  found  it  necessary  to  say  something.  '  Cer- 
tainly,' he  stammered  at  a  venture,  'we  can  all  try,  my 
lord.     Why  not?' 

'  Ay,  why  not?  '  said  Lord  Almeric.     '  Why  not  try  ?  ' 


234  THE  CASTLE  TNN 

'  Try  ?  But  how  are  you  going  to  try  ?  '  Mr.  Pomeroy 
responded  with,  a  jeering  laugh.  '  I  tell  you,  we  cannot 
all  marry  the  girl.' 

Lord  Almeric  burst  in  a  sudden  fit  of  chuckling.  '  I 
vow  and  protest  I  have  it  ! '  he  cried.  '  We'll  play  for 
her  !  Don't  you  see,  Pom  ?  We'll  cut  for  her  !  Ha  ! 
Ha  !  That  is  surprising  clever  of  me,  don't  you  think? 
We'll  play  for  her  ! ' 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

CUTTING    FOE    THE    QUEEN" 

It  was  a  suggestion  so  purely  in  the  sj^irit  of  a  day  when 
men  betted  on  every  contingency,  public  or  private,  deco- 
rous or  tiie  reverse,  from  the  fecundity  of  a  sister  to 
the  longevity  of  a  sire,  that  it  sounded  less  indecent  in 
the  ears  of  Lord  Almeric's  companions  than  it  does  in 
ours.  Mr.  Thomasson  indeed,  who  was  only  so  far  a 
gamester  as  every  man  who  had  pretensions  to  be  a  gen- 
tleman was  one  at  that  time,  and  who  had  seldom,  since 
the  days  of  Lady  Harrington's  faro  bank,  staked  more 
than  he  could  afford,  hesitated  and  looked  dubious.  But 
Mr.  Pomeroy,  a  reckless  and  hardened  gambler,  gave  a 
boisterous  assent,  and  in  the  face  of  that  the  tutor's 
objections  went  for  nothing.  In  a  trice,  all  the  cards 
and  half  the  glasses  were  swept  pell  mell  to  the  floor,  a 
new  pack  was  torn  open,  the  candles  were  snuffed,  and 
Mr.  Pomeroy,  smacking  him  on  the  back,  was  bidding 
him  draw  up. 

'Sit  down,  man  !  Sit  down  ! '  cried  that  gentleman, 
who  had  regained  his  jovial  humour  as  quickly  as  he  had 
lost  it,  and  whom  the  prospect  of  the  stake  appeared  to 
intoxicate.  '  May  I  burn  if  I  ever  played  for  a  girl 
before  !  Hang  it  !  man,  look  cheerful.  We'll  toast  her 
first — and  a  daintier  bit  never  swam  in  a  bowl — and  play 
for  her  afterwards  !  Come,  no  heel-taps,  my  lord.  Drink 
her  !     Drink  her  !     Here's  to  the  Mistress  of  Bastwick  ! ' 

'  Lady   Almeric   Doyley  ! '    my  lord  cried,  rising,  and 


23G  THE  CASTLE  INN 

bowing  with  his  haud  to  his  heart,  while  he  ogled  the 
door  through  which  she  had  disappeared.  '  I  driuk  you  ! 
Here's  to  your  pretty  face,  my  dear  ! ' 

'  Mrs.  Thomasson  !  '  cried  the  tutor,  '  1  drink  to  you. 
But ' 

'  But  what  shall  it  be,  you  mean  ? '  Pomeroy  cried 
briskly.  '  Loo,  Quinze,  Faro,  Lansquenet  ?  Or  crib- 
bage,  all-fours,  put,  Mr.  Parson,  if  you  like  !  It's  all 
one  to  me.     Name  your  game  and  I  am  your  man  ! ' 

'Then  let  us  shuffle  and  cut,  and  the  highest  takes,' 
said  the  tutor. 

'  Sho  !  man,  where  is  the  sport  in  that  ?  '  Pomeroy 
cried,  receiving  the  suggestion  with  disgust. 

'It  is  what  Lord  Almeric  proposed,'  Mr.  Thomasson 
answered.  The  two  glasses  of  wine  he  had  taken  had 
given  him  courage.  '  I  am  no  player,  and  at  games  of 
skill  I  am  no  match  for  you.' 

A  shadow  crossed  Mr.  Pomeroy 's  face;  but  he  recov- 
ered himself  immediately.  'As  you  please,'  he  said, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  with  a  show  of  carelessness.  '  I'll 
match  any  man  at  anything.     Let's  to  it  ! ' 

But  the  tutor  kept  his  hands  on  the  cards,  which  lay 
in  a  heap  face  downwards  on  the  table.  '  There  is  a 
thing  to  be  settled,'  he  said,  hesitating  somewhat,  '  before 
we  draw.     If  she  will  not  take  the  winner — what  then  ?  ' 

'  What  then  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  what  then  ?  ' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  grinned.  '  VVh}^  then  number  two  will 
try  his  luck  with  her,  and  if  he  fail,  number  three  ! 
There,  my  bully  boy,  that  is  settled.  It  seems  simple 
enough,  don't  it  ?  ' 

'  But  how  long  is  each  to  have  ?  '  the  tutor  asked  in  a 
low  voice.  The  three  were  bending  over  the  cards,  their 
faces  near  one  another.  Lord  Almeric's  eyes  turned  from 
one  to  the  other  of  the  speakers. 


CUTTING  FOR   THE  QUEEN  237 

'  How  long  ?  '  Mr.  Pomeroy  answered,  raising  his  eye- 
brows. '  Ah.  Well,  let's  say — what  do  you  think  ?  Two 
days  ? ' 

'  And  if  the  first  fail,  two  days  for  the  second  ?  ' 

'There  will  be  no  second  if  I  am  first,'  Pomeroy  an- 
swered grimly. 

'  But  otherwise,'  the  tutor  persisted;  '  two  days  for  the 
second  ? ' 

Bully  Pomeroy  nodded. 

'Bat  then,  the  question  is,  can  we  keep  her  here  ?  ' 

'  Four  days  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  laughed  harshly.  'Ay,'  he  said,  'or  six 
if  needs  be  and  I  lose.  You  may  leave  that  to  me. 
We'll  shift  her  to  the  nursery  to-morrow.' 

'  The  nursery  ?  '  my  lord  said,  and  stared. 

'  The  windows  are  barred.     Now  do  you  understand?  ' 

The  tutor  turned  a  shade  paler,  and  his  eyes  sank  slyly 
to  the  table.  '  There'll — there'll  be  no  violence,  of 
course,'  he  said,  his  voice  a  trifle  unsteady. 

'Violence?  Oh,  no,  there  will  be  no  violence,'  Mr. 
Pomeroy  answered  with  an  unpleasant  sneer.  And  they 
all  laughed;  Mr.  Thomasson  tremulously.  Lord  Almeric 
as  if  he  scarcely  entered  into  the  other's  meaning  and 
laughed  that  he  might  not  seem  outside  it.  Then, 
'  There  is  another  thing  that  must  not  be,'  Pomeroy  con- 
tinued, tapping  softly  on  the  table  with  his  forefinger,  as 
much  to  command  attention  as  to  emphasise  his  words, 
'  and  that  is  peaching  !  Peaching  !  We'll  have  no 
Jeremy  Twitcher  here,  if  you  please.' 

'  No,  no  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  stammei-ed.  '  Of  course 
not.' 

'  No,  damme  ! '  said  my  lord  grandly.    '  No  peaching  ! ' 

'No,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  said,  glancing  keenly  from  one  to 
the  other,  '  and  by  token  I  have  a  thought  that  will  cure 


238  THE  CASTLE  INN 

it.  D'ye  see  here,  my  lord  !  What  do  yon  say  to  the 
losers  taking  five  thousand  each  out  of  Madam's  money  ? 
That  sliould  bind  all  together  if  anything  will — though 
I  say  it  that  will  have  to  pay  it,'  he  continued  boastfully. 

My  lord  was  full  of  admiration.  '  Uncommon  hand- 
some ! '  he  said.  '  Pom,  that  does  you  credit.  You  have 
a  head  !     I  always  said  you  had  a  head  ! ' 

'  You  are  agreeable  to  that,  my  lord  ?  ' 

'  Burn  me,  if  I  am  not.' 

'  Then  shake  hands  upon  it.  And  what  say  you, 
Parson  ? ' 

Mr.  Thoniasson  proffered  an  assent  fully  as  enthusiastic 
as  Lord  Almeric's,  but  for  a  different  reason.  The  tutor's 
nerves,  never  strong,  were  none  the  better  for  the  rough 
treatment  he  had  undergone,  his  long  drive,  and  his 
longer  fast.  He  had  taken  enough  wine  to  obscure  re- 
moter terrors,  but  not  the  image  of  Mr.  Dunborough — 
mipiger,  iractmdus,  inexorahilis,  acer  —  Dunborough 
doubly  and  trebly  offended  !  That  image  recurred  when 
the  glass  was  not  at  his  lips;  and  behind  it,  sometimes 
the  angry  spectre  of  Sir  George,  sometimes  the  face  of 
the  girl,  blazing  with  rage,  slaying  him  with  the  lightning 
of  her  contempt. 

He  thought  that  it  would  not  suit  him  ill,  therefore, 
tliough  it  was  a  sacrifice,  if  Mr.  Pomeroy  took  the  for- 
tune, the  wife,  and  the  risk — and  five  thousand  only  fell 
to  him.  True,  the  risk,  apart  from  that  of  Mr.  Dunbor- 
ough's  vengeance,  might  be  small;  no  one  of  the  three 
had  had  act  or  part  in  the  abduction  of  the  girl.  True, 
too,  in  the  atmosphere  of  this  unfamiliar  house — into 
which  he  had  been  transported  as  suddenly  as  Bedreddiu 
Hassan  to  the  palace  in  the  fairy  tale — with  the  fumes 
of  wine  and  the  glamour  of  beauty  in  his  head,  he  was 
in  a  mood  to  minimise  even  that  risk.  But  under  the 
jovial  good-fellowship  which  Mr.  Pomeroy  affected,  and 


CUTTING  FOR   THE  QUEEN  239 

strove  to  instil  into  tlie  party,  lie  discerned  at  odd  mo- 
ments a  something  sinister  tliat  turned  his  craven  heart 
to  water  and  loosened  the  joints  of  his  knees. 

The  lights  and  cards  and  jests,  the  toasts  and  laughter 
were  a  mask  that  sometimes  slipped  and  let  him  see  the 
death's  head  that  grinned  behind  it.  They  were  three 
men,  alone  with  the  girl  in  a  country  house,  of  which  the 
reputation,  Mr.  Thomasson  had  a  shrewd  idea,  was  no 
better  than  its  master's.  No  one  outside  knew  that  she 
was  there;  as  far  as  her  friends  were  concerned,  she  had 
vanished  from  the  earth.  She  was  a  woman,  and  she  was 
in  their  power.  What  was  to  prevent  them  bending  her 
to  their  purpose  ? 

It  is  probable  that  had  she  been  of  their  rank  from  the 
beginning,  bred  and  trained,  as  well  as  born,  a  Soane, 
it  would  not  have  occurred  even  to  a  broken  and  desperate 
man  to  frame  so  audacious  a  plan.  But  scruples  grew 
weak,  and  virtue — the  virtue  of  Vauxhall  and  the  mas- 
querades— languished  where  it  was  a  question  of  a  woman 
who  a  month  before  had  been  fair  game  for  undergrad- 
uate gallantry,  and  who  now  carried  fifty  thousand  pounds 
in  her  hand. 

Mr.  Pomeroy's  next  words  showed  that  this  aspect  of 
the  case  was  in  his  mind.  '  Damme,  she  ought  to  be  glad 
to  marry  any  one  of  us  ! '  he  said,  as  he  packed  the  cards 
and  handed  them  to  the  others  that  each  might  shuffle 
them.  '  If  she  is  not,  the  worse  for  her  !  We'll  put  her 
on  bread  and  water  until  she  sees  reason  ! ' 

'  D'you  think  Dunborough  knew.  Tommy?  '  said  Lord 
Almeric,  grinning  at  the  thought  of  his  friend's  disap- 
pointment.    '  That  she  had  the  money  ?  ' 

Dunborough's  name  turned  the  tutor  grave.  He  shook 
his  head. 

'  He'll  be  monstrous  mad  !  Monstrous  ! '  Lord  Al- 
meric suid  with  a  chuckle;  the  wine  he  had  drunk   was 


240  THE  CASTLE  INN 

beginning  to  affect  him.  '  He  has  jjaid  the  postboys  and 
we  ride.  Well,  are  you  ready  ?  Ready  all  ?  Hallo  ! 
Who  is  to  draw  first  ? ' 

'Let's  draw  for  first,'  said  Mr.  Pomeroy.  'All  to- 
gether ! ' 

'  All  together  ! ' 

*  For  it's  hey,  derry  down,  and  it's  over  the  lea, 
And  it's  out  with  the  fox  in  the  dawning  ! ' 

sang  my  lord  in  an  uncertain  voice.     And  then,  '  Lord  ! 

I've  a  d d  deuce  !     Tommy  has  it  !     Tommy's  Pam 

has  it  !  No,  by  Gad  !  Pomeroy,  you  have  won  it  !  Your 
Queen  takes  !  ' 

'  And  I  shall  take  the  Queen  ! '  quoth  Mr.  Pomeroy. 
Then  ceremoniously,  '  My  first  draw,  I  think  ? ' 

'Yes,'  said  Mr.  Thomasson   nervously. 

'Yes,'  said  Lord  Almeric,  gloating  with  flushed  face 
on  the  blind  backs  of  the  cards  as  they  lay  in  a  long  row 
before  him.     '  Draw  away  ! ' 

'  Then  here's  for  a  wife  and  five  thousand  a  year  !  ' 
cried  Pomeroy.  '  One,  two,  three — oh,  hang  and  sink 
the  cards  ! '  he  continued  with  a  violent  execration,  as  he 
flung  down  the  card  he  had  drawn.  '  Seven's  the  main  ! 
I  have  no  luck  !  Now,  Mr.  Parson,  get  on  !  Can  you 
do  better?' 

Mr.  Thomasson,  a  damp  flush  on  his  brow,  chose  his 
card  gingerly,  and  turned  it  with  trembling  fingers.  Mr. 
Pomeroy  greeted  it  with  a  savage  oath.  Lord  Almeric  with 
a  yell  of  tipsy  laughter.     It  was  an  eight. 

'  It  is  bad  to  be  crabbed,  but  to  be  crabbed  by  a  smug 
like  you  !  '  Mr.  Pomeroy  cried  churlishly.  Then,  '  Go 
on,  man  ! '  he  said  to  his  lordship.  '  Don't  keep  us  all 
night.' 

Lord  Almeric,  thus  adjured,  turned  a  card  with  a 
flourish.     It  was  a  King  ! 


AND    DRINK    HER,    YOU    E.WIOUS    BEGGARb  !    l/Ki.NK    HiiK  !  ' 


CUTTING  FOR   THE  QUEEN  241 

'  Fal-lal-lal,  lal-lal-la  ! '  he  sang,  rising  with  a  sweep 
of  the  arm  that  brought  down  two  candlesticks.  Then, 
seizing  a  glass  and  filling  it  from  the  punch-bowl,  '  Here's 
your  health  once  more,  my  lady.  And  drink  her,  you 
envious  beggars  !  Drink  her  !  You  shall  throw  the 
stocking  for  us.  Lord,  we'll  have  a  right  royal  wedding  ! 
And  then ' 

'Don't  you  forget  the  five  thousand,'  said  Pomeroy 
sulkily.  He  kept  his  seat,  his  hands  thrust  deep  into 
his  breeches  pockets;  he  looked  the  picture  of  disappoint- 
ment. 

'  Not  I,  dear  lad  !  Not  I  !  Lord,  it  is  as  safe  as  if 
your  banker  had  it.     Just  as  safe  ! ' 

'  Umph  !  She  has  not  taken  you  yet  ! '  Pomeroy  mut- 
tered, watching  him;  and  his  face  relaxed.  '  No,  hang 
me  !  she  has  not  ! '  he  continued  in  a  tone  but  half  audi- 
ble.    '  And  it  is  even  betting  she  will  not.     She  might 

take  you  drunk,  but  d n  me  if  she  will  take  you 

sober  ! '  And,  cheered  by  the  reflection,  he  pulled  the 
bowl  to  him,  and,  filling  a  glass,  '  Here's  to  her,  my  lord,' 
he  said,  raising  it  to  his  lips.  '  But  remember  you  have 
only  two  days.' 

'Two  days  !  '  my  lord  cried,  reeling  slightly;  the  last 
glass  had  been  too  much  for  him.  "  We'll  be  married  in 
two  days.     See  if  we  are  not.' 

'  The  Act  notwithstanding?'  Mr.  Pomeroy  said,  with 
a  sneer. 

'  Oh,  sink  the  Act  !  '  his  lordship  retorted.  '  But 
where's — where's  the  door?  I  shall  go,'  he  continued, 
gazing  vacantly  about  him,  '  go  to  her  at  once,  and  tell 
her — tell  her  I  shall  marry  her  !  You — you  fellows  are 
hiding  the  door  !  You  are — you  are  all  jealous  !  Oh. 
yes  !  Such  a  shape  and  such  eyes  !  You  are  jealous, 
hang  you  ! ' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  leaned  forward  and  leered  at  the  tutor. 
16 


242  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'Shall  we  let  him  go?'  he  whispered.  'It  will  mend 
somebody's  chance.  What  say  you,  Parson  ?  You  stand 
next.  Make  it  six  thousand  instead  of  five,  and  I'll  see 
to  it.' 

'  Let  me  go  to  her  ! '  ]ny  lord  hiccoughed.  He  was 
standing,  holding  by  the  back  of  a  chair.  '  I  tell  you — I 
— where  is  she '?  You  are  jealous  !  That's  Avhat  you 
are!  Jealous!  She  is  fond  of  me — pretty  charmer — and 
I  shall  go  to  her  ! ' 

But  Mr.  Thomasson  shook  his  head;  not  so  much  be- 
cause he  shrank  from  the  outrage  which  the  other  con- 
templated with  a  grin,  as  because  he  now  wished  Lord 
Almeric  to  succeed.  He  thought  it  jiossible  and  even 
likely  that  the  girl,  dazzled  by  his  title,  would  be  willing 
to  take  the  young  sprig  of  nobility.  And  the  influence 
of  the  Doyley  family  was  great. 

He  shook  his  head  therefore,  and  Mr,  Pomeroy  rebuffed, 
solaced  himself  with  a  couple  of  glasses  of  punch.  After 
that,  Mr.  Thomasson  pleaded  fatigue  as  his  reason  for 
declining  to  take  a  hand  at  any  game  whatever,  and  my 
lord  continuing  to  maunder  and  flourish  and  stagger,  the 
host  reluctantly  suggested  bed ;  and  going  to  the  door 
bawled  for  Jarvey  and  his  lordship's  man.  They  came, 
but  were  found  to  be  incapable  of  standing  when  apart. 
The  tutor  and  Mr.  Pomeroy,  therefore,  took  my  lord  by 
the  arms  and  partly  shoved  and  partly  supported  him  to 
his  room. 

There  was  a  second  bed  in  the  chamber.  '  You  had 
better  tumble  in  there.  Parson,'  said  Mr.  Pomeroy. 
'  \Yhat  say  you  ?    Will't  do  ?  ' 

'Finely,'  Tommy  answered.  'I  am  obliged  to  you,' 
And  when  they  had  jointly  loosened  his  lordship's  cravat, 
and  removed  his  wig  and  set  the  cool  jug  of  small  beer 
within  his  reach,  Mr,  Pomeroy  bade  the  other  a  curt  good- 
night, and  took  himself  off. 


CUTTING  FOR   THE  QUEFN  243 

Mr.  Thomasson  waited  until  his  footsteps  ceased  to 
echo  in  the  gallery,  and  then,  he  scarcely  knew  why,  he 
furtively  opened  the  door  and  peeped  out.  All  was  dark ; 
and  save  for  the  regular  tick  of  the  pendulum  on  the 
stairs,  the  house  Avas  still.  Mr.  Thomasson,  wondering 
which  way  .Julia's  room  lay,  stood  listening  until  a  stair 
creaked;  and  then,  retiring  preciiDitately,  locked  his  door. 

Lord  Almeric,  in  the  gloom  of  the  green  moreen  cur- 
tains that  draped  his  huge  four-poster,  had  fallen  into  a 
drunken  slumber.  The  shadow  of  his  wig,  which  Pome- 
roy  had  clapped  on  the  wig-stand  by  the  bed,  nodded  on 
the  wall,  as  the  draught  moved  the  tails.  Mr.  Thomasson 
shivered,  and,  removing  the  candle — as  was  his  prudent 
habit  of  nights — to  the  hearth,  muttered  that  a  goose 
was  walking  over  his  grave,  undressed  quickly,  and 
jumped  into  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

LOKD     ALMERIC'S     SUIT 

When  Julia  awoke  iu  the  morning,  without  start  or 
shock,  to  the  dreary  consciousness  of  all  she  had  lost,  she 
was  still  under  the  influence  of  the  despair  which  had 
settled  on  her  spirits  overnight,  and  had  run  like  a  dark 
stain  through  her  troubled  dreams.  Fatigue  of  body  and 
lassitude  of  mind,  the  natural  consequences  of  the  passion 
and  excitement  of  her  adventure,  combined  to  deaden 
her  faculties.  She  rose  aching  in  all  her  limbs — yet  most 
at  heart — and  wearily  dressed  herself;  but  neither  saw 
nor  heeded  the  objects  round  her.  The  room  to  which 
poor  puzzled  Mrs.  Olney  had  hastily  consigned  her  looked 
over  a  sunny  stretch  of  park,  sprinkled  with  gnarled 
thorn-trees  that  jioorly  filled  the  places  of  the  oaks  and 
chestnuts  which  the  gaming-table  had  consumed.  Still, 
the  outlook  pleased  the  eye,  nor  was  the  chamber  itself 
lacking  in  liveliness.  The  panels  on  the  walls,  wherein 
needlework  cockatoos  and  flamingoes,  wrought  under 
Queen  Anne,  strutted  in  the  care  of  needlework  black- 
boys,  were  faded  and  dull;  but  the  jDleasant  white  dimity 
with  which  the  bed  was  hung  relieved  and  lightened  them. 
To  Julia  it  was  all  one.  Wrapped  in  bitter  thoughts 
and  reminiscences,  her  bosom  heaving  from  time  to  time 
with  ill-restrained  grief,  she  gave  no  thought  to  such 
things,  or  even  to  her  position,  until  Mrs.  Olney  ap- 
peared and  informed  her  that  breakfast  awaited,  her  in 
another  room. 


LORD  ALIIERIC'S  SUIT  245 

Then,  '  Can  I  not  take  it  here  ?  '  she  asked,  shrinking 
painfully  from  the  prospect  of  meeting  any  one. 

'  Here  ?  '  Mrs.  Olney  repeated.  The  housekeeper  never 
closed  her  mouth,  except  when  she  spoke;  for  which 
reason,  perhaps,  her  face  faithfully  mirrored  the  weak- 
ness of  her  mind. 

'Yes,'  said  Julia.  'Can  I  not  take  it  here,  if  you 
please  ?  I  suppose — we  shall  have  to  start  by-and-by  ?  ' 
she  added,  shivering. 

'By-and-by,  ma'am?'  Mrs.  Olney  answered.  'Oh, 
yes.' 

'  Then  I  can  have  it  here.' 

'Oh,  yes,  if  you  please  to  follow  me,  ma'am.'  And 
she  held  the  door  open. 

Julia  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and,  contesting  the  mat- 
ter no  further,  followed  the  good  woman  along  a  corridor 
and  through  a  door  which  shut  off  a  second  and  shorter 
passage.  From  this  three  doors  opened,  apparently  into 
as  many  apartments.  Mrs.  Olney  threw  one  wide  and 
ushered  her  into  a  room  damp-smelling,  and  hung  with 
drab,  but  of  good  size  and  otherwise  comfortable.  The 
windows  looked  over  a  neglected  Dutch  garden,  which 
was  so  rankly  overgrown  that  the  box  hedges  scarce  rose 
above  the  wilderness  of  j^arterres.  Beyond  this,  and  di- 
vided from  it  by  a  deep-sunk  fence,  a  pool  fringed  with 
sedges  and  marsh-weeds  carried  the  eye  to  an  alder  thicket 
that  closed  the  prospect. 

Julia,  in  her  relief  on  finding  that  the  table  was  laid 
for  one  only,  paid  no  heed  to  the  outlook  or  to  the  bars 
that  crossed  the  windows,  but  sank  into  a  chair  and 
mechanically  ate  and  drank.  Apprised  after  a  while  that 
Mrs.  Olney  had  returned  and  was  watching  her  with 
fatuous  good-nature,  she  asked  her  if  she  knew  at  what 
hour  she  was  to  leave. 

'  To  leave  ?  '  said  the  housekeeper,   whose  almost    in- 


346  THE  CASTLE  INN 

variable  custom  it  \\'as  to  repeat  the  last  words  addressed 
to  her.     '  Oh,  yes,  to  leave.     Of  course.' 

'But  at  what  time?'  Julia  asked,  wondering  whether 
the  woman  was  as  dull  as  she  seemed. 

'  Yes,  at  what  time  ?  '  Then  after  a  pause  and  with 
a  phenomenal  effort,  '  I  will  go  and  see — if  you  please. ' 

She  returned  jDresently.  'There  are  no  horses,'  she 
said.  '  "VMien  they  are  ready  the  gentleman  will  let  you 
know. ' 

'  They  have  sent  for  some  ?  ' 

'  Sent  for  some,'  repeated  Mrs.  Olney,  and  nodded,  but 
Avhether  in  assent  or  imbecility  it  was  hard  to  say. 

After  that  .Julia  troubled  her  no  more,  but  rising  from 
her  meal  had  recourse  to  the  window  and  her  own 
thoughts.  These  were  in  unison  with  the  neglected 
garden  and  the  sullen  pool,  which  even  the  sunshine 
failed  to  enliven.  Her  heart  was  torn  between  the  sense 
of  Sir  George's  treachery — which  now  benumbed  her 
brain  and  now  awoke  it  to  a  fury  of  resentment — and 
fond  memories  of  words  and  looks  and  gestures,  that 
shook  her  very  frame  and  left  her  sick — love-sick  and 
trembling.  She  did  not  look  forward  or  form  plans;  nor, 
in  the  dull  lethargy  in  which  she  was  for  the  most  part 
sunk,  was  she  aware  of  the  passage  of  time  until  Mrs. 
Olney  came  in  with  mouth  and  eyes  a  little  wider  than 
usual,  and  annouticed  that  the  gentleman  was  coming  up. 

Julia  supposed  that  the  woman  referred  to  Mr.  Thom- 
asson  ;  and,  recalled  to  the  necessity  of  returning  to 
Marlborough,  she  gave  a  reluctant  permission.  Great 
was  her  astonishment  when,  a  moment  later,  not  the 
tutor,  but  Lord  Almeric,  fanning  himself  with  a  laced 
handkerchief  and  carrying  his  little  French  hat  under 
his  arm,  appeared  on  the  threshold,  and  entered  simper- 
ing and  bowing.  He  was  extravagantly  dressed  in  a 
mixed  silk  coat,  pink  satin  waistcoat,  and  a  mushroom 


LORD  ALMERIC'S  SUIT  247 

stock,  with  breeches  of  silver  net  and  white  silk  stock- 
ings; and  had  a  large  pearl  pin  thrust  through  his  wig. 
Unhappily,  his  splendour,  designed  to  captivate  the  por- 
ter's daughter,  only  served  to  exhibit  more  plainly  the 
nerveless  hand  and  sickly  cheeks  which  he  owed  to  last 
night's  debauch. 

Apparently  he  was  aware  of  this,  for  his  first  words 
were,  '  Oh,  Lord  !  what  a  twitter  I  am  in  !  I  vow  and 
protest,  ma'am,  I  don't  know  where  you  get  your  roses 
of  a  morning.  But  I  wish  you  would  give  me  the 
secret. ' 

'  Sir  ! '  she  said,  interrupting  him,  surprise  in  her  face. 
'  Or ' —  with  a  momentary  flush  of  confusion — '  I  should 
say,  my  lord,  surely  there  must  be  some  mistake  here.' 

'None,  I  dare  swear,'  Lord  Almeric  answered,  bowing 
gallantly.  '  But  I  am  in  such  a  twitter  ' — he  dropped  his 
hat  and  picked  it  up  again — '  I  hardly  know  what  I  am 
saying.  To  be  sure,  I  was  devilish  cut  last  niglit  !  I 
hope  nothing  was  said  to — to — oh.  Lord  !  I  mean  I  hope 
you  were  not  much  incommoded  by  the  night  air,  ma'am.' 

'The  night  air  has  not  hurt  me,  I  thank  you,'  said 
Julia,  who  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  hide  her  impa- 
tience. 

However,  my  lord,  nothing  daunted,  expressed  himself 
monstrous  glad  to  hear  it;  monstrous  glad.  And  after 
looking  about  him  and  humming  and  hawing,  'Won't 
you  sit  ? '  he  said,  with  a  killing  glance. 

'I  am  leaving  immediately,'  Julia  answered,  and  de- 
clined with  coldness  the  chair  which  he  pushed  forward. 
At  another  time  his  foppish  dress  might  have  moved  lier 
to  smiles,  or  his  feebleness  and  vapid  oaths  to  pity.  This 
morning  she  needed  her  pity  for  herself,  and  was  in  no 
smiling  mood.  Her  world  had  crashed  round  her;  she 
would  sit  and  weep  among  the  ruins,  and  this  butterfly 
insect  flitted  between.     After  a  moment,  as  he  did  not 


248  THE  CASTLE  INN 

speak,  'I  will  not  detain  3'onr  lordship,'  she  continued, 
curtseying  frigidly. 

'  Cruel  beauty  ! '  my  lord  answered,  dropping  his  hat 
and  clasping  his  hands  in  an  attitude.  And  then,  to  her 
astonishment,  'Look,  ma'am,'  he  cried  with  animation, 
'  look,  I  beseech  you,  on  the  least  worthy  of  your  admirers 
and  deign  to  listen  to  him.  Listen  to  him  while — and 
don't,  oh,  I  say,  don't  stare  at  me  like  that,'  he  continued 
hurriedl}^  plaintiveness  suddenly  taking  the  place  of 
grandiloquence.     '  I  vow  and  protest  I  am  in  earnest.' 

'  Then  you  must  be  mad  ! '  Julia  cried  in  great  wrath. 
'  You  can  have  no  other  excuse,  sir,  for  talking  to  me  like 
that  ! ' 

'  Excuse  ! '  he  cried  rapturously.  '  Your  eyes  are  my 
excuse,  your  lips,  your  shape  !  Whom  would  they  not 
madden,  ma'am  ?  Whom  would  they  not  charm — iu- 
sanitate — intoxicate  ?  What  man  of  sensibility,  seeing 
them  at  an  immeasurable  distance,  would  not  hasten  to 
lay  his  homage  at  the  feet  of  so  divine,  so  perfect  a  crea- 
ture, whom  even  to  see  is  to  taste  of  bliss  !  Deign,  ma- 
dam, to Oh,  I  say,  you  don't  mean   to  say  you  are 

really  of — offended  ?  '  Lord  Almeric  stuttered  in  amaze- 
ment, again  falling  lamentably  from  the  standard  of 
address  which  he  had  conned  while  his  man  was  shaving 
him.     '  You — you — look  here ' 

'  You  must  be  mad  ! '  Julia  cried,  her  eyes  flashing 
lightning  on  the  unhappy  beau.  '  If  you  do  not  leave 
me,  I  will  call  for  some  one  to  put  you  out  !  How  dare 
you  insult  me  ?     If  there  were  a  bell  I  could  reach ' 

Lord  Almeric  stared  in  the  utmost  perplexity;  and 
fallen  from  his  high  horse,  alighted  on  a  kind  of  dignity. 
'  Madam,'  he  said  with  a  little  bow  and  a  strut,  '  'tis  the 
first  time  an  offer  of  marriage  from  one  of  my  family  has 
been  called  an  insult  !  And  I  don't  understand  it.  Hang 
me  !  if  we  have  married  fools,  we  have  married  high  ! ' 


LORD  AL3IERIC\S  SUIT  249 

It  was  Julia's  turn  to  be  overwhelmed  with  confusion. 
Having  nothing  less  in  her  mind  than  marriage,  and  least 
of  all  an  offer  of  marriage  from  such  a  person,  she  had 
set  down  all  he  had  said  to  impudence  and  her  unguarded 
situation.  Apprised  of  his  meaning,  she  exj)erienced  a 
degree  of  shame,  and  muttered  that  she  had  not  under- 
stood; she  craved  his  pardon. 

'  Beauty  asks  and  beauty  has  ! '  Lord  Almeric  answered, 
bowing  and  kissing  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  his  self-esteem 
perfectly  restored. 

Julia  frowned.     'You  cannot  be  in  earnest,'  she  said. 

'  Never  more  in  earnest  in  my  life  ! '  he  replied.  '  Say 
the  word — say  you'll  have  me,'  he  continued,  pressing  his 
little  hat  to  his  breast  and  gazing  over  it  with  melting 
looks,  '  most  adorable  of  your  sex,  and  I'll  call  up  Pom- 
eroy,  I'll  call  up  Tommy,  the  old  woman,  too,  if  you 
choose,  and  tell  'em,  tell  'em  all.' 

'  I  must  be  dreaming,'  Julia  murmured,  gazing  at  him 
in  a  kind  of  fascination. 

'  Then  if  to  dream  is  to  assent,  dream  on,  fair  love  ! ' 
his  lordship  spouted  with  a  grand  air.  And  then,  '  Hang 
it  !  that's — that's  rather  clever  of  me,'  he  continued. 
'  And  I  mean  it  too  !  Oh,  depend  upon  it,  there's  noth- 
ing that  a  man  won't  think  of  when  he's  in  love  !  And 
I  am  fallen  confoundedly  in  love  with — with  you,  ma'am.' 

'  But  very  suddenly,'  Julia  rei^lied.  She  was  beginning 
to  recover  from  her  amazement. 

'  You  don't  think  that  I  am  sincere  ?  '  he  protested 

plaintively.     '  You  doubt  me  !     Then '  he  advanced 

apace  towards  her  with  hat  and  arms  extended,  'let  the 
eloquence  of  a — a  feeling  heart  plead  for  me;  a  heart, 
too — yes,  too  sensible  of  your  charms,  and — and  your 
many  merits,  ma'am  !  Yes,  most  adorable  of  your  sex. 
But  there,'  he  added,  l>reaking  off  abruptly,  '  I  said  that 
before,  didn't  I  ?     Yes.      Lord  !  what  a  memorv  I  have 


250  THE   CASTLE  INN 

got  !  I  am  all  of  a  twitter.  I  was  so  cut  last  night,  I 
don't  know  what  I  am  saying. ' 

'  That  I  believe,'  Julia  said  with  chilling  severity. 

'  Eh,  but — but  you  do  believe  I  am  in  earnest  ?  '  he  cried 
anxiously.  '  Shall  I  kneel  to  you  ?  Shall  I  call  up  the 
servants  and  tell  them  ?  Shall  I  swear  that  I  mean  hon- 
ourably? Lord  !  I  am  no  Mr.  Thornhill  I  I'll  make 
it  as  public  as  you  like,'  he  continued  eagerly.  '  I'll  send 
for  a  bishop ' 

'Spare  me  the  bishop,'  Julia  rejoined  with  a  faint 
smile,  '  and  any  farther  appeals.  They  come,  I  am  con- 
vinced, my  lord,  rather  from  your  head  than  your  heart. ' 

'  Oh,  Lord,  no  ! '  he  cried. 

'  Oh,  Lord,  yes,'  she  answered  with  a  sj)ice  of  her  old 
archness.  '  I  may  have  a  tolerable  ojjinion  of  my  own 
attractions — women  commonly  have,  it  is  said.  But  I 
am  not  so  foolish,  my  lord,  as  to  suppose  that  on  the  three 
or  four  occasions  on  which  I  have  seen  you  I  can  have 
gained  your  heart.  To  what  I  am  to  attribute  your  sud- 
den— shall  I  call  it  whim  or  fancy — '  Julia  continued  with 
a  faint  blush,  '  I  do  not  know.  I  am  willing  to  suppose 
that  you  do  not  mean  to  insult  me.' 

Lord  Almeric  denied  it  with  a  woeful  face. 

'  Or  to  deceive  me.  I  am  willing  to  suppose,'  she  re- 
peated, stopping  him  by  a  gesture  as  he  tried  to  speak, 
*  that  you  are  in  earnest  for  the  time,  my  lord,  in  desir- 
ing to  make  me  your  wife,  strange  and  sudden  as  the 
desire  appears.  It  is  a  great  honour,  but  it  is  one  which 
I  must  as  earnestly  and  positively  decline.' 

'  Why  ? '  he  cried,  gaping,  and  then,  '  0  'swounds, 
ma'am,  you  don't  mean  it  ? '  he  continued  jiiteously. 
'  l\oi  have  me  ?    Xot  have  me  ?    And  why  ?  ' 

•Because,'  she  said  modestly,  'I  do  not  love  3'ou,  my 
lord.' 

'Oh,   but — but  when  we  are   married,'    he   answered 


LORD  ALIIERIC'S  SUIT  251 

eagerly,  rallying  his  scattered  forces,  '  when  we  are  one, 
sweet  maid ' 

'  That  time  will  never  come,'  she  replied  cruelly.  And 
then  gloom  overspreading  her  face,  '  I  shall  never  marry, 
my  lord.  If  it  be  any  consolation  to  you,  no  one  shall  be 
preferred  to  you.' 

''  Oh,  but,  damme,  the  desert  air  and  all  that  ! '  Lord 
Almeric  cried,  fanning  himself  violently  Avith  his  hat. 
'  I — oh,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that,  you  know.  Lord  ! 
you  might  be  some  queer  old  put  of  a  dowager  !  '  And 
then,  with  a  burst  of  sincere  feeling,  for  his  little  heart 
was  inflamed  by  her  beauty,  and  his  manhood — or  such 
of  it  as  had  survived  the  lessons  of  Vauxhall,  and  Mr. 
Thomasson — rose  in  arms  at  sight  of  her  trouble,  '  See 
here,  child,'  he  said  in  his  natural  voice,  '  say  yes,  and 
I'll  swear  I'll  be  kind  to  you  !  Sink  me  if  I  am  not  ! 
And,  mind  you,  you'll  be  my  lady.  You'll  to  Eanelagh 
and  the  masquerades  with  the  best.  You  shall  have  your 
box  at  the  opera  and  the  King's  House;  you  shall  have 
your  frolic  in  the  pit  when  you  please,  and  your  own 
money  for  loo  and  brag,  and  keep  your  own  woman  and 
have  her  as  ugly  as  the  bearded  lady,  for  what  I  care — I 
want  nobody's  lips  but  yours,  sweet,  if  you'll  be  kind. 
And,  so  hel])  me,  I'll  stop  at  one  bottle,  my  lady,  and 
play  as  small  as  a  Churchwarden's  club  !  And,  Lord,  I 
don't  see  why  we  should  not  be  as  happy  together  as 
James  and  Betty  ! ' 

She  shook  her  head;  but  kindly,  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
and  a  trembling  lip.  She  was  thinking  of  another  who 
might  have  given  her  all  this,  or  as  much  as  was  to  her 
taste;  one  with  whom  she  had  looked  to  be  as  happy  as 
any  James  and  Betty.  'It  is  impossible,  my  lord,'  she 
said. 

'  Honest  Abraham  ?  '  he  cried,  very  downcast. 

'  Oh,  yes,  yes  ! ' 


253  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  S'help  me,  you  are  meltiug  ! ' 

'  No,  no  ! '  she  cried,  '  it  is  not — it  is  not  that  !  It  is 
impossible,  I  tell  yon.  You  don't  know  what  you  ask,' 
she  continued,  struggling  with  the  emotion  that  almost 
mastered  her. 

'  But,  curse  me,  I  know  what  I  want  ! '  he  answered 
gloomily.  '  You  may  go  farther  and  fare  worse  !  Lord, 
I  swear  you  may.  I'd  be  kind  to  you,  and  it  is  not 
everybody  would  be  that  ! ' 

She  had  turned  from  him  that  he  might  not  see  her 
face,  and  she  did  not  answer.  He  waited  a  moment, 
twiddling  his  hat;  his  face  was  overcast,  his  mood  hung 
between  spite  and  pity.  At  last,  '  Well,  'tisn't  my  fault,' 
he  said;  and  then  relenting  again,  '  But  there,  I  know 
what  women  are — vapours  one  day,  kissing  the  next.  I'll 
try  again,  my  lady.     I  am  not  proud.' 

She  flung  him  a  gesture  that  meant  assent,  dissent,  dis- 
missal, as  he  pleased  to  interpret  it.  He  took  it  to  mean 
the  first,  and  muttering,  '  Well,  well,  have  it  your  own 
way.  I'll  go  for  this  time.  But  hang  all  prudes,  say  I,' 
he  withdrew  reluctantly,  and  sloM'ly  closed  the  door  on 
her. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone  the  tempest,  which  Julia's 
pride  had  enabled  her  to  stem  for  a  time,  broke  forth  in 
a  passion  of  tears  and  sobs,  and,  throwing  herself  on  the 
shabby  window-seat,  she  gave  free  vent  to  her  grief.  The 
happy  future  which  the  little  beau  had  dangled  before 
her  eyes,  absurdly  as  he  had  fashioned  and  bedecked  it, 
reminded  her  all  too  sharply  of  that  which  she  had  prom- 
ised herself  with  one,  in  whose  affections  she  had  fancied 
herself  secure,  despite  the  attacks  of  the  prettiest  Abigail 
in  the  world.  How  fondly  had  her  fancy  depicted  life 
with  him  !  With  what  happy  blushes,  Avhat  joyful 
tremors  !  And  now  ?  What  wonder  that  at  the  thought 
a  fresh  burst  of  grief  convulsed  her  frame,  or  that  she 


LORD  ALMERIC'S  SUIT  2:>?, 

presently  passed  from  tlie  extremity  of  grief  to  the  ex- 
tremity of  rage,  and,  realising  anew  Sir  George's  heartless 
desertion  and  more  cruel  perfidy,  rubbed  lier  tear-stained 
face  in  the  dusty  chintz  of  the  window-seat — that  had 
known  so  many  childish  sorrows — and  there  choked  the 
fierce,  hysterical  words  that  rose  to  her  lips? 

Or  what  wonder  that  her  next  thought  was  revenge '? 
She  sat  up,  with  her  back  to  the  window  and  the  unkempt 
garden,  whence  the  light  stole  through  the  disordered 
masses  of  her  hair  ;  her  face  to  the  empty  room.  Ke- 
venge  ?  Yes,  she  could  punish  him;  she  could  take  this 
money  from  him,  she  could  pursue  him  with  a  woman's 
unrelenting  spite,  she  could  hound  him  from  the  country, 
she  could  have  all  but  his  life.  But  none  of  these  things 
would  restore  her  maiden  pride;  would  remove  from  her 
the  stain  of  his  false  love,  or  rebut  the  insolent  taunt  of 
the  eyes  to  which  she  had  bowed  herself  captive.  If  she 
could  so  beat  him  with  his  own  weajions  that  he  should 
doubt  his  conquest,  doubt  her  love;  if  she  could  effect 
that,  there  was  no  method  she  would  not  adopt,  no  way 
she  would  not  take. 

Pique  in  a  woman's  mind,  even  in  the  mind  of  the  best, 
finds  a  rival  the  tool  readiest  to  hand.  A  wave  of  crimson 
swept  across  Julia's  pale  face,  and  she  stood  up  on  her 
feet.  Lady  Almeric  !  Lady  Almeric  Doyley  !  Here 
was  a  revenge,  the  fittest  of  revenges,  ready  to  her  hand, 
if  she  could  bring  herself  to  take  it.  What  if,  in  the 
same  hour  in  which  he  heard  that  his  plan  had  gone 
amiss,  he  heard  that  she  was  to  marry  another  ?  and  such 
another  that  marry  almost  whom  he  might  she  would  take 
precedence  of  his  wife.  That  last  was  a  small  thought,  a 
petty  thought,  worthy  of  a  smaller  mind  than  Julia's ; 
but  she  was  a  woman,  and  passionate,  aiul  the  charms  of 
such  a  revenge  in  the  general,  came  home  to  her.  It 
would   show  him  that  others  valued  what  he  liad   cast 


254  THE  CASTLE  INN 

awa}' ;  it  would  convince  liim — she  hoped,  and  yet,  alas  ! 
she  doubted — that  she  had  taken  his  suit  as  lightly  as  he 
had  meant  it.  It  would  give  her  a  home,  a  place,  a  set- 
tled position  in  the  world. 

She  followed  it  no  farther;  jjerhaps  because  she  would 
act  on  impulse  rather  than  on  reason,  blindly  rather  than 
on  foresight.  In  haste,  with  trembling  fingers,  she  set  a 
chair  below  the  broken,  frayed  end  of  a  bell-rope  that 
hung  on  the  wall.  Reaching  it,  as  if  she  feared  her  reso- 
lution might  fail  before  the  event,  she  pulled  and  pulled 
frantically,  until  hurrying  footsteps  came  along  the  pass- 
age, and  Mrs.  Olney  with  a  foolish  face  of  alarm  entered 
the  room. 

*  Fetch — tell  the  gentleman  to  come  back, '  Julia  cried, 
l)reathing  quickly. 

'  To  come  back  ?  ' 

'  Yes  !     The  gentleman  who  was  here  now. ' 

'Oh,  yes,  the  gentleman,'  Mrs.  Olney  murmured. 
'  Your  ladyship  wishes  him  ?  ' 

Julia's  very  brow  turned  crimson;  but  her  resolution 
held.  'Yes,  I  wish  to  see  him,'  she  said  imperiously. 
'  Tell  him  to  come  to  me  ! ' 

She  stood  erect,  panting  and  defiant,  her  eyes  on  the 
door  while  the  woman  went  to  do  her  bidding — waited 
erect,  refusing  to  think,  her  face  set  hard,  until  far  down 
the  outer  passage — Mrs.  Olney  had  left  the  door  open — 
the  sound  of  shuffling  feet  and  a  shrill  prattle  of  words 
heralded  Lord  Almeric's  return.  Presently  he  came  tri})- 
ping  in  with  a  smirk  and  a  bow,  the  inevitable  little  hat 
under  his  arm.  Before  he  had  recovered  the  breath  the 
ascent  of  the  stairs  had  cost  him,  he  was  in  an  attitude 
that  made  the  best  of  his  white  silk  stockings. 

'  See  at  your  feet  the  most  obedient  of  your  slaves, 
ma'am  ! '  he  cried.  '  To  hear  was  to  obey,  to  obey  was 
to  fly  !     If  it's  Pitt's  diamond  you  need,  or  Lady  Mary's 


LORD  AL2IERIC'S  SUIT  355 

soap-box,  or  a  new  conundrum,  or — hang  it  all  !  I  cannot 
think  of  anything  else,  but  command  me  !  I'll  forth  and 
get  it,  stap  me  if  I  won't  ! ' 

'  My  lord,  it  is  nothing  of  that  kind,'  Julia  answered, 
her  voice  steady,  though  her  cheeks  burned. 

'  Eh  ?  what  ?  It's  not  ! '  he  babbled.  '  Then  what  is 
it?     Command  me,  whatever  it  is.' 

'I  believe,  my  lord,'  she  said,  smiling  faintly,  'that  a 
woman  is  always  privileged  to  change  her  mind — once.' 

My  lord  stared.  Then,  gathering  her  meaning  as  much 
from  her  heightened  colour  as  from  her  words,  '  What  ! ' 
he  screamed.  '  Eh  ?  0  Lord  !  Do  you  mean  that  you 
will  have  me  ?  Eh  ?  Have  you  sent  for  me  for  that  ? 
Do  you  really  mean  that  ?  '  And  he  fumbled  for  his  spy- 
glass that  he  might  see  her  face  more  clearly. 

'I  mean,'  Julia  began;  and  then,  more  firmly,  'Yes, 
I  do  mean  that,'  she  said,  'if  you  are  of  the  same  mind, 
my  lord,  as  you  were  half  an  hour  ago.' 

'  Crikey,  but  I  am  ! '  Lord  Almeric  cried,  fairly  skip- 
ping in  his  joy.  '  By  jingo  !  I  am  !  Here's  to  you,  my 
lady  !  Here's  to  you,  ducky  !  Oh,  Lord  !  but  I  was  fit 
to  kill  myself  five  minutes  ago,  and  those  fellows  would 
have  done  naught  but  roast  me.  And  now  I  am  in  the 
seventh  heaven.  Ho  !  ho  ! '  he  continued,  with  a  comical 
pirouette  of  triumph,  '  he  laughs  best  who  laughs  last. 
But  there,  you  are  not  afraid  of  me,  pretty  ?  You'll  let 
me  buss  you  ?  ' 

But  Julia,  with  a  face  grown  suddenly  white,  shrank 
back  and  held  out  her  hand. 

'  Sakes  !  but  to  seal  the  bargain,  child,'  he  remon- 
strated, trying  to  get  near  her. 

She  forced  a  faint  smile,  and,  still  retreating,  gave 
him  her  hand  to  kiss.  '  Seal  it  on  that,'  she  said  gra- 
ciously. Then,  '  Your  lordship  will  pardon  me,  I  am 
sure.     I  am  not  very  well,  and — and  yesterday  has  shaken 


256  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

me.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  leave  me  uow,  until 
to-morrow  ? ' 

'  To-morrow  ! '  he  cried.  '  To-morrow  !  AVhy,  it  is 
an  age  !     An  eternity  ! ' 

But  she  was  determined  to  have  until  to-morrow — God 
knows  why.  And,  with  a  little  firmness,  she  persuaded 
him,  and  he  went. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI 

BOON    COMPANIONS 

Lord  Almeric  flew  down  the  stairs  on  the  wings  of 
triumph,  rehearsing  at  each  corner  the  words  in  which 
he  would  announce  his  conquest.  He  found  his  host  and 
the  tutor  sitting  together  in  tlie  parlour,  in  the  middle  of 
a  game  of  shilling  hazard;  which  they  were  playing,  the 
former  Avith  as  much  enjoyment  and  tlie  latter  with  as 
mach  good-humour  as  consisted  with  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Pomeroy  was  losing,  and  ]\Ir.  Thomasson  played  against 
his  will.  The  weather  had  changed  for  the  worse  since 
morning.  The  sky  was  leaden,  the. trees  were  dripping, 
the  rain  hung  in  rows  of  drops  along  the  rails  that  flanked 
the  avenue.  Mr.  Pomeroy  cursed  the  damp  hole  he  owned 
and  sighed  for  town  and  the  Cocoa  Tree.  The  tutor 
wished  he  were  quit  of  the  company — and  his  debts. 
And  both  were  so  far  from  suspecting  what  had  happened 
upstairs,  though  the  tutor  had  his  hopes,  that  Mr.  Pome- 
roy was  offering  three  to  one  against  his  friend,  when 
Lord  Almeric  danced  in  upon  them. 

'  Give  me  joy  !  '  he  cried  breathless.  '  D'you  hear. 
Pom  ?  She'll  take  me,  and  I  have  bussed  her  !  March 
could  not  have  done  it  quicker  !  She's  mine,  and  the 
pool  !     She  is  mine  !     Give  me  joy  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  lost  not  a  minute  in  rising  and  shaking 

him  by  the  hand.     '  My  dear  lord,'  he  said,  in  a  voice 

rendered  unusually  rich  and  mellow  by  tlie  prospect  of 

five  thousand  pounds,   '  you  make  me  infinitely  happy. 

17 


258  THE  CASTLE  INN 

You  do  indeed  !  I  give  your  lordship  joy  !  I  assure  you 
that  it  will  ever  be  a  matter  of  the  deepest  satisfaction  to 
me  that  I  was  tlie  cause  under  Providence  of  her  presence 
here  !  A  fine  woman,  my  lord,  and  a — a  commensurate 
fortune  ! ' 

'  A  fine  woman  ?  Gad  !  you'd  say  so  if  you  had  held 
her  in  your  arms  ! '  cried  my  lord,  strutting  and  lying. 

'I  am  sure,'  Mr.  Thomasson  hastened  to  say,  'your 
lordship  is  every  way  to  be  congratulated.' 

'  Gad  !  you'd  say  so.  Tommy  ! '  the  other  repeated  with 
a  wink.     He  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. 

So  far  all  went  swimmingly,  neither  of  them  remarking 
that  Mr,  Pomeroy  kept  silence.  But  at  this  point  the 
tutor,  whose  temper  it  was  to  be  uneasy  unless  all  were 
on  his  side,  happened  to  turn,  saw  that  he  kept  his  seat, 
and  was  struck  with  the  blackness  of  his  look.  Anxious 
to  smooth  over  any  unpleasantness,  and  to  recall  him  to 
the  requirements  of  the  occasion,  '  Come,  Mr.  Pomeroy,' 
he  cried  jestingly,  '"shall  Ave  drink  her  ladyship,  or  is  it 
too  early  in  the  day  ?  ' 

Bully  Pomeroy  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  breeches 
pockets  and  did  not  budge.  '  'Twill  be  time  to  drink  her 
when  the  ring  is  on  ! '  he  said,  with  an  ugly  sneer. 

'  Oh,  I  vow  and  protest  that's  ungenteel,'  my  lord  com- 
plained. '  I  vow  and  protest  it  is  !  '  he  repeated  queru- 
lously. '  See  here.  Pom,  if  you. had  won  her  I'd  not  treat 
you  like  this  ! ' 

'  Your  lordship  has  not  won  her  yet,'  was  the  churlish 
answer. 

'  But  she  has  said  it,  I  tell  you.  She  said  she'd  have 
me.' 

'  She  won't  be  the  first  woman  has  altered  her  mind, 
nor  the  last,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  retorted  with  an  oath.  '  You 
may  be  amazing  sure  of  that,  my  lord. '  And  muttering 
something  about  a  woman  and  a  fool  being  near  akin,  he 


BOON  COMPANIONS  259 

si^urned  a  dog  out  of  his  way,  overset  a  chair,  and  strode 
cursing  from  the  room. 

Lord  Almeric  stared  after  him,  his  face  a  queer  mixture 
of  vanity  and  dismay.  At  last,  '  Strikes  me,  Tommy, 
he's  uncommon  hard  hit,'  he  said,  with  a  simper.  'He 
must  have  made  surprising  sure  of  her.  Ah  ! '  he  con- 
tinued with  a  chuckle,  as  he  passed  his  hand  delicately 
over  his  well-curled  wig,  and  glanced  at  a  narrow  black- 
framed  mirror  that  stood  between  the  windows.  '  He  is 
a  bit  too  old  for  the  women,  is  Pom.  They  run  to  some- 
thing lighter  in  hand.  Besides,  there's  a — a  way  with 
the  pretty  creatures,  if  you  take  me,  and  Pom  has  not  got 
it.  Now  I  flatter  myself  I  have.  Tommy,  and  Julia — it 
is  a  sweet  name,  Julia,  don't  you  think  ? — Julia  is  of  that 
way  of  thinking.  Lord  !  I  know  women,'  his  lordship 
continued,  beaming  the  happier  the  longer  he  talked. 
'  It  is  not  what  a  man  has,  or  what  he  has  done,  or  even 
his  taste  in  a  coat  or  a  wig — though,  mind  you,  a  French 
f riseur  does  a  deal  to  help  men  to  lonnes  fortiines — but 
it  is  a  sort  of  a  way  one  has.  The  silly  creatures  cannot 
stand  against  it.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  hastened  to  agree,  and  to  vouch  her 
future  ladyship's  flame  in  proof  of  my  lord's  prowess. 
But  the  tutor  was  a  timid  man;  and  the  more  perfect  the 
contentment  with  which  he  viewed  the  turn  things  had 
taken,  and  the  more  nearly  within  his  grasp  seemed  his 
five  thousand,  the  graver  was  the  misgiving  with  which 
he  regarded  Mr.  Pomeroy's  attitude.  He  had  no  notion 
what  shape  that  gentleman's  hostility  might  take,  nor 
how  far  his  truculence  might  aspire.  But  he  guessed 
that  Lord  Almeric's  victory  had  convinced  the  elder  man 
that  his  task  would  have  been  easy  had  the  cards  favoured 
him;  and  when  a  little  later  in  the  day  he  saw  Pomeroy 
walking  in  the  park  in  the  drenching  rain,  his  hands 
thrust  deep  into  the  pockets  of  his  wrap-rascal  and  his 


260  THE  CASTLE  INN 

chin  bent  on  his  breast,  he  trembled.  He  knew  that 
when  men  of  Mr.  Pomeroy's  class  take  to  thinking,  some 
one  is  likely  to  lose. 

At  dinner  the  tutor's  fears  were  temporarily  lulled. 
Mr.  Pomeroy  put  in  a  sulky  appearance,  but  his  gloom, 
it  was  presently  manifest,  was  due  to  the  burden  of  an 
a]iology;  which,  being  lamely  offered  and  readily  accei)ted, 
he  relapsed  into  his  ordinary  brusque  and  reckless  mood, 
swearing  that  they  would  have  the  lady  down  and  drink 
her,  or  if  that  were  not  pleasing,  '  Damme,  we'll  drink 
her  any  way  ! '  he  continued.  '  I  was  a  toad  this  morn- 
ing. No  offence  meant,  my  lord.  Lover's  license,  you 
know.  You  can  afford  to  be  generous,  having  won  the 
pool.' 

'And  the  maid,'  my  lord  said  with  a  simper.  'Burn 
me  !  you  are  a  good  fellow,  Pom.  Give  me  your  hand. 
You  shall  see  her  after  dinner.  She  said  to-morrow ;  but, 
hang  me  !  I'll  to  her  this  evening.' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  expressed  himself  properly  gratified,  add- 
ing demurely  that  he  would  pilay  no  tricks. 

'  No,  hang  me  !  no  tricks  ! '  my  lord  cried  someAvhat 
alarmed.     '  Not  that ' 

'  Not  that  I  am  likely  to  displace  3'our  lordship,  her 
affections  once  gained,'  said  Mr.  Pomeroy. 

He  lowered  his  face  to  hide  a  smile  of  bitter  derision, 
but  he  might  have  spared  his  pains;  for  Lord  Almeric, 
never  very  wise,  was  blinded  by  vanity.  '  No,  I  should 
think  not,'  he  said,  with  a  conceit  which  came  near  to 
deserving  the  other's  contempt.  '  I  should  think  not. 
Tommy.  Give  me  twenty  minutes  of  a  start,  as  Jack 
Wilkes  says,  and  you  may  follow  as  you  please.  I  rather 
fancy  I  brought  down  the  bird  at  the  first  shot  ? ' 

'  Certainly,  my  lord.' 

'  I  did,  didn't  I  ? ' 

'Most  certainly,  your  lordship  did,'  repeated  the  obse- 


BOON  COIfPANIONS  261 

quioiis  tutor;  who,  basking  in  the  smiles  of  his  host's 
good-humour,  began  to  think  that  things  would  run 
smoothly  after  all.  So  the  lady  was  toasted,  and  toasted 
again.  Nay,  so  great  was  Mr.  Pomeroy's  complaisance 
and  so  easy  his  mood,  he  must  needs  have  up  three  or 
four  bottles  of  Brooks  and  Hellier  that  had  lain  in  the 
cellar  half  a  century — the  last  of  a  batch — and  give  her  a 
third  time  in  bumpers  and  no  heel-taps. 

But  that  opened  Mr.  Thomasson's  eyes.  He  saw  that 
Pomeroy  had  reverted  to  his  idea  of  the  night  before, 
and  was  bent  on  making  the  young  fop  drunk,  and  expos- 
ing him  in  that  state  to  his  mistress;  perhaps  had  the 
notion  of  pushing  him  on  some  rudeness  that,  unless  she 
proved  very  compliant  indeed,  must  ruin  him  for  ever 
with  her.  Three  was  their  dinner  hour;  it  was  not  yet 
four,  yet  already  the  young  lord  was  flushed  and  a  little 
flustered,  talked  fast,  swore  at  Jarvey,  and  bragged  of  the 
girl  lightly  and  without  reserve.  By  six  o'clock,  if  some- 
thing were  not  done,  he  would  be  unmanageable. 

The  tutor  stood  in  no  little  awe  of  his  host.  He  had 
tremors  down  his  back  when  he  thought  of  his  violence; 
nor  was  this  dogged  persistence  in  a  design,  as  cruel  as 
it  was  cunning,  calculated  to  lessen  the  feeling.  But  he 
had  five  thousand  pounds  at  stake,  a  fortune  on  which 
he  had  been  pluming  himself  since  noon;  it  was  no  time 
for  hesitation.  They  were  dining  in  the  hall  at  the  table 
at  which  they  had  played  cards  the  night  before,  Jarvey 
and  Lord  Almeric's  servant  attending  them.  Between 
the  table  and  the  staircase  was  a  screen.  The  next  time 
Lord  Almeric's  glass  was  filled,  the  tutor,  in  reaching 
something,  upset  the  glass  and  its  contents  over  his  own 
breeches,  and  amid  the  laughter  of  the  other  two  retired 
behind  the  screen  to  l)e  wiped.  There  he  slipped  a  crown 
into  the  servant's  hand,  and  whispered  him  to  keep  his 
master  sober  and  he  should  have  another. 


263  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Mr.  Pomero}'  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing,  and  for 
a  time  suspected  nothing.  The  servant  was  a  crafty 
fellow,  a  London  rascal,  deft  at  whipping  away  full  bot- 
tles. He  was  an  age  finding  a  clean  glass,  and  slow  in 
drawing  the  next  cork.  He  filled  the  host's  bumper,  and 
Mr.  Thomassou's,  and  had  but  half  a  glass  for  his  master. 
The  next  bottle  he  impudently  pronounced  corked,  and 
when  Pomeroy  cursed  him  for  a  liar,  brought  him  some 
in  an  unwashed  glass  that  had  been  used  for  Bordeaux. 
The  wine  was  condemned,  and  went  out;  and  though 
Pomeroy,  with  unflagging  spirits,  roared  to  Jarvey  to 
open  the  other  bottles,  the  butler  had  got  the  office,  and 
was  slow  to  bring  them.  The  cheese  came  and  went,  and 
left  Lord  Almeric  cooler  than  it  found  him.  The  tutor 
was  overjoyed  at  the  success  of  his  tactics. 

But  when  the  board  was  cleared,  and  the  bottles  were 
set  on,  and  the  men  withdrawn.  Bully  Pomeroy  began  to 
push  what  remained  of  the  Brooks  and  Hellier  after  a  fash- 
ion that  boded  an  early  defeat  to  the  tutor's  precautions. 
It  was  in  vain  Thomasson  clung  to  the  bottle  and  some- 
times returned  it  Hertfordshire  fashion.  The  only  result 
was  that  Mr.  Pomeroy  smelt  a  rat,  gave  Lord  Almeric  a 
back-hander,  and  sent  the  bottle  on  again,  with  a  grin 
that  told  the  tutor  he  was  understood. 

After  that  Mr.  Thomasson  had  the  choice  between 
sitting  still  and  taking  his  own  part.  It  was  neck  or 
nothing.  Lord  Almeric  was  already  hiccoughing  and 
would  soon  be  talking  thickly.  The  next  time  the  bottle 
came  round,  the  tutor  retained  it,  and  when  Lord  Al- 
meric reached  for  it,  'No,  my  lord,'  he  said,  laughing; 
'  Venus  first  and  Bacchus  afterwards.  Your  lordship  has 
to  wait  on  the  lady.  When  you  come  down,  with  Mr. 
Pomeroy's  leave,  we'll  crack  another  bottle.' 

My  lord  withdrew  his  hand  more  readily  than  the  other 
had  hoped.     '  Eight,  Tommy,'  he  said.     '  FU  Avait  till  I 


BOON  COMPANIONS  263 

come  down.  What's  that  song,  "  Eicli  the  treasure, 
sweet  the  pleasure,  sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain  "  ?  Oh, 
no,  damme!  I  don't  mean  that,'  he  continued.  '  Xo. 
How  does  it  go  ?  ' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  thrust  the  bottle  into  his  hands,  looking 
daggers  the  while  at  the  tutor.  '  Take  another  glass,'  he 
cried  boisterously.  '  'Swounds,  the  girl  will  like  you  the 
better  for  it.' 

'  D'ye  think  so.  Pom  ?     Honest  ?  ' 

'  Sure  of  it.     'Twill  give  you  spirit,  my  lord. ' 

'So  it  will.' 

'  At  her  and  kiss  her  !  Are  you  going  to  be  governed 
all  your  life  by  that  whey-faced  old  Methodist?  Or  be 
your  own  man  ?     Tell  me  that. ' 

'My  lord,  there's  fifty  thousand  pounds  upon  it,' 
Thomasson  said,  his  face  red.  And  he  pushed  back  the 
bottle.  The  setting  sun,  peeping  a  moment  through  the 
rain  clouds  and  the  low-browed  lattice  windows,  flung  an 
angry  yellow  light  on  the  board  and  the  three  flushed 
faces  round  it.  '  Fifty  thousand  pounds,'  repeated  Mr. 
Thomasson  firmly. 

'  Damme  !  so  there  is  ! '  my  lord  answered,  settling  his 
chin  in  his  cravat  and  dusting  the  crumbs  from  his 
breeches.     '  I'll  take  no  more.     So  there  ! ' 

'I  thought  your  lordship  was  a  good-humoured  man 
and  no  flincher,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  retorted  with  a  sneer. 

'Oh,  I  vow  and  protest — if  you  put  it  that  way,'  the 
weakling  answered,  once  more  extending  his  hand,  the 
fingers  of  which  closed  lovingly  round  the  bottle,  '  I  can- 
not refuse.     Positively  I  cannot.' 

'  Fifty  thousand  pounds  ! '  the  tutor  said,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

Lord  Almeric  drew  back  his  hand. 

'Why,  she'll  like  you  the  better!'  Pomeroy  cried 
fiercelv,  as  he  thrust  the  bottle  to  liim  again.     '  D'you 


264  THE  CA.STLE  INN 

tbiuk   a    woman   doesn't   love   an  easy  husband?     And 
wouldn't    rather   have   a   good   fellow   than    a    thread- 


paper  r 

'  Mr.  Pomeroy  !  Mr.  Pomeroy  ! '  the  tutor  said.  Such 
words  used  of  a  lord  shocked  him. 

'  A  milksop  !     A  thing  of  curds  and  whey  ! ' 

'After  marriage,  yes,'  the  tutor  muttered,  pitching  his 
voice  cleverly  in  Lord  Almeric's  ear,  and  winking  as  he 
leant  towards  him.  '  But  your  lordship  has  a  great  stake 
in't ;  and  to  abstain  one  night — why,  sure,  my  lord,  it's 
a  small  thing  to  do  for  a  fine  woman  and  a  fortune.' 

'  Hang  me  !  so  it  is  ! '  Lord  Almeric  answered.  '  You 
are  a  good  friend  to  me.  Tommy.'  And  he  flung  his 
glass  crashing  into  the  fireplace.  '  No,  Pom;  you'd  bub- 
ble me.  You  want  the  pretty  charmer  yourself.  But 
I'll  be  hanged  if  you  shall  have  her.  I'll  walk,  my  boy, 
I'll  walk,  and  at  six  I'll  go  to  her,  and  take  you  too. 
And  mind  you,  no  tricks.  Pom.  Lord  !  I  know  women 
as  well  as  I  know  my  own  head  in  the  glass.  You  don't 
bite  me.' 

Pomeroy,  with  a  face  like  thunder,  did  not  answer;  and 
Lord  Almeric,  walking  a  little  unsteadily,  went  to  the 
door,  and  a  moment  later  became  visible  through  one  of 
the  windows.  He  stood  awhile,  his  back  towards  them, 
now  sniffing  the  evening  air,  and  now,  with  due  regard 
to  his  mixed  silk  coat,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

Mr.  Thoniasson,  his  heart  beating,  wished  he  had  had 
the  courage  to  go  with  him.  But  this  would  have  been 
to  break  with  his  host  beyond  mending;  and  it  was  now 
too  late.  He  was  still  seeking  a  ]iropitiatory  phrase  with 
which  to  break  the  oppressive  silence,  when  Pomeroy 
anticipated  hi  in. 

'You  think  yourself  vastly  clever,  Mr.  Tutor,'  he 
growled,  his  voice  hoarse  with  auger.  '  You  think  a  bird 
in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush,  I  see. ' 


BOON  C03IPANI0NH  265 

'Ten  in  the  bush,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered,  affecting 
an  easiness  he  did  not  feel.     '  Ten  fives  are  fifty. ' 

'  Two  in  the  bush  I  said,  and  two  in  the  bush  I  mean,' 
the  other  retorted,  his  voice  still  low.  '  Take  it  or  leave 
it,'  he  continued,  with  a  muttered  oath  and  a  swift  side 
glance  at  the  windows,  through  which  Lord  Almeric  was 
still  visible,  walking  slowly  to  and  fro,  and  often  stand- 
ing. '  If  you  want  it  firm,  I'll  put  it  in  black  and  white. 
Ten  thousand,  or  security,  the  day  after  we  come  from 
church.' 

The  tutor  was  silent  a  moment.  Then,  '  It  is  too  far 
in  the  bush,'  he  answered  in  a  low  voice.  '  I  am  willing 
enough  to  serve  you,  Mr.  Pomeroy.  I  assure  you,  my 
dear  sir,  I  desire  nothing  better.  But  if — if  his  lordship 
were  dismissed,  you'd  be  as  far  off  as  ever.  And  I  should 
lose  my  bird  in  hand.' 

'  She  took  him.     Why  should  she  not  take  me  ?  ' 

'He  has — no  offence — a  title,  Mr.  Pomeroy.' 

'  And  is  a  fool.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  raised  his  hands  in  deprecation.  Such 
a  saying,  spoken  of  a  lord,  really  offended  him.  But  his 
words  went  to  another  point.  '  Besides,  it's  a  marriage- 
brocage  contract,  and  void,'  he  muttered.     '  Void  in  law.' 

'  You  don't  trust  me '? ' 

'  'Twould  be  of  no  use,  Mr.  Pomeroy,'  the  tutor  an- 
swered, gently  shaking  his  head,  and  avoiding  the  issue 
presented  to  him.  '  You  could  not  persuade  her.  She 
was  in  such  a  humour  to-day,  my  lord  had  special  ad- 
vantages. Break  it  off  between  them,  and  she'll  come  to 
herself.  And  she  is  wilful — Lord  !  you  don't  know  her  ! 
Petruchio  could  not  tame  her.' 

'I  know  nothing  about  Petruchio,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  an- 
swered grimly.  '  Nor  who  the  gentleman  was.  But  I've 
ways  of  my  own.     You  can  leave  that  to  mo.' 

But   Mr.   Thomasson,  who  had  only  parleyed   out  of 


266  THE   CASTLE  INN 

compliauce,  took  fright  at  that,  and  rose  from  the  table, 
shaking  his  head. 

'  You  won't  do  it?  '  Mr.  Pomeroy  said. 

The  tutor  shook  his  head  again,  with  a  sickly  smile. 
' 'Tis  too  far  in  the  bush,'  he  said. 

'Ten  thousand,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  persisted,  his  eyes  on 
the  other's  face.  '  Man,'  he  continued  forcibly,  '  Do  you 
think  you  will  ever  have  such  a  chance  again  V  Ten 
thousand  !  Why,  'tis  eight  hundred  a  year.  'Tis  a 
gentleman's  fortune.' 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Thomasson  did  waver.  Then  he 
put  the  temj^tatiou  from  him,  and  shook  his  head.  '  You 
must  pardon  me,  jNfr.  I'omeroy,'  he  said.  'I  cannot 
do  it.' 

'  Will  not  ! '  Pomeroy  cried  harshly.  '  AVill  not  ! ' 
And  would  have  said  more,  but  at  that  moment  Jarvey 
entered  behind  him. 

'Please,  your  honour,'  the  man  said,  'the  lady  would 
see  my  lord.' 

'  Oh  ! '  Pomeroy  answered  coarsely,  '  she  is  impatient, 
is  she  ?  Devil  take  her  for  me  !  And  him  too  ! '  And 
he  sat  sulkily  in  his  place. 

But  the  interruption  suited  Mr.  Thonuisson  perfectly. 
He  went  to  the  outer  door,  and,  opening  it,  called  Lord 
Almeric,  who,  hearing  what  was  afoot,  hurried  in. 

'  Sent  for  me  ! '  he  cried,  pressing  his  hat  to  his  breast. 
'  Dear  creature  !  '  and  he  kissed  his  fingers  to  the  gal- 
lery. '  Positivel}'  she  is  the  daintiest,  sweetest  morsel 
ever  wore  a  petticoat  !  I  vow  and  protest  I  am  in  love 
with  her  !  It  were  ])rutal  not  to  be,  and  she  so  fond  ! 
I'll  to  her  at  once  !  Tell  her  I  fly  !  I  stay  for  a  dash 
of  bergamot,  and  I  am  with  her  ! ' 

'I  thought  that  you  were  going  to  take  us  with  you,' 
said  Mr,  Pomeroy,  watching  him  sourly. 

'  I  will  !     'Pon  honour,  I  will  !  '  replied  the  delighted 


BOON  COMPANIONS  267 

beau.  '  But  she  will  soon  find  a  way  to  dismiss  you,  the 
cunning  baggage  !  and  then,  ''  Sweet  is  pleasure  after 
pain."    Ha  !  Ha  !  I  have  it  aright  this  time.     Sweet  is 

Plea oh  !  the  doting  rascal  !     But  let  us  to  her  !     I 

vow,  if  she  is  not  civil  to  you,  I'll — I'll  be  cold  to  her  ! ' 


CHAPTEE   XXVII 

MR.    FISHWICK'S    discovery 

We  left  Sir  George  Soane  and  his  companions  stranded 
in  the  little  alehouse  at  Bathford,  waiting  through  the 
small  hours  of  the  night  for  a  conveyance  to  carry  them 
forward  to  Bristol.  Soap  and  water,  a  good  meal,  and  a 
brief  dog's  sleep,  in  which  Soane  had  no  share — he  spent 
the  night  walking  up  and  down — and  from  which  Mr. 
Fishwick  was  continually  starting  Avith  cries  and  mean- 
ings, did  something  to  put  them  in  better  plight,  if  in 
no  better  temper.  When  the  dawn  came,  and  with  it 
the  chaise-and-four  for  which  they  had  sent  to  Bath,  they 
issued  forth  haggard  and  unshaven,  but  resolute;  and 
long  before  the  shops  in  Bristol  had  begun  to  look  for 
custom,  the  three,  with  Sir  George's  servant,  descended 
before  the  old  Bush  Inn,  near  the  Docks. 

The  attorney  held  strongly  the  opinion  that  they  should 
not  waste  a  second  before  seeking  the  j^ersons  whom  Mr. 
Dunborough  had  employed;  the  least  delay,  he  urged, 
and  the  men  might  be  gone  into  hiding.  But  on  this  a 
wrangle  took  place,  in  the  empty  street  before  the  half- 
roused  inn;  with  a  milk-girl  and  a  couple  of  drunken 
sailors  for  witnesses.  Mr.  Dunborough,  who  was  of  the 
party  will-he,  nill-he,  and  asked  nothing  better  than  to 
take  out  in  churlishness  the  pressure  put  upon  him,  stood 
firmly  to  it,  he  would  take  no  more  than  one  person  to 
the  men.  He  would  take  Sir  George,  if  he  pleased,  but 
he  would  take  no  one  else. 


MR.   FISmVlCK'S  DISCOVERY  2G9 

'Til  have,  no  lawyer  to  make  evidence!'  he  cried 
boastfully.  '  And  I'll  take  no  one  but  on  terms.  I'll 
have  no  Jemmy  Twitcher  with  me.     That's  flat.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  in  a  great  rage  was  for  insisting;  but 
Sir  George  stopped  him.  '  On  what  terms  ? '  he  asked 
the  other. 

'  If  the  girl  be  unharmed,  we  go  unharmed.  One  and 
all!'  Mr.  Dunborough  answered.  'Damme!'  he  con- 
tinued with  a  great  show  of  bravado,  '  do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  peach  on  'em  ?  Not  I.  There's  the  offer,  take 
it  or  leave  it.' 

Sir  George  might  have  broken  down  his  opposition  by 
the  same  arguments  addressed  to  his  safety  which  had 
brought  him  so  far.  But  time  Avas  everything,  and  Soane 
Avas  on  fire  to  know  the  best  or  worst.  '  Agreed  ! '  he 
cried.  '  Lead  the  way,  sir  !  And  do  you,  Mr.  Fishwick, 
await  me  here.' 

'We  must  have  time,'  Mr.  Dunborough  grumbled, 
hesitating,  and  looking  askance  at  the  attorney — he  hated 
him.  '  I  can't  answer  for  an  hour  or  two.  I  know  a 
place,  and  I  know  another  place,  and  there  is  another 
place.  And  they  may  be  at  one  or  another,  or  the  other. 
D'you  see  ? ' 

'I  see  that  it  is  your  business,'  Sir  George  answered 
with  a  glance,  before  which  the  other's  eyes  fell.  '  AVait 
until  noon,  Mr.  Fishwick.  If  we  have  not  returned  at 
that  hour,  be  good  enough  to  swear  an  information  against 
this  gentleman,  and  set  the  constables  to  work.' 

Mr.  Dunborough  muttered  that  it  lay  on  Sir  George's 
head  if  ill  came  of  it;  but  that  said,  swung  sulkily  on  his 
heel.  Mr.  Fishwick,  when  the  two  were  some  way  down 
the  street,  ran  after  Soane,  and  asked  in  a  whisper  if  his 
l^istols  were  primed;  when  he  returned  satisfied  on  that 
point,  the  servant,  whom  he  had  left  at  the  door  of  the 
inn,   had   vanished.     The  lawver  made  a  shrewd  guess 


270  THE  CASTLE  INN 

tliat  he  would  laavc  an  eye  to  his  master's  safety,  and 
retired  into  the  house  with  less  misgiving. 

He  got  his  breakfast  early,  and  afterwards  dozed  awhile, 
resting  his  aching  bones  in  a  corner  of  the  cofiee-room. 
It  was  nine  and  after,  and  the  tide  of  life  was  roaring 
through  the  channels  of  the  city  when  he  roused  himself, 
and  to  divert  his  suspense  and  fend  off  his  growing  stiff- 
ness went  out  to  look  about  him.  All  was  new  to  him, 
but  he  soon  Avearied  of  the  main  streets,  where  huge  drays 
laden  wnth  puncheons  of  rum  and  bales  of  tobacco  threat- 
ened to  crush  him,  and  tarry  seamen,  their  whiskers 
hanging  in  ringlets,  jostled  him  at  every  crossing.  Turn- 
ing aside  into  a  cjuiet  court  he  stood  to  stare  at  a  humble 
wedding  which  was  leaving  a  church.  He  watched  the 
party  out  of  sight,  and  then,  the  church-door  standing 
open,  he  took  the  fancy  to  stroll  into  the  building.  He 
looked  about  him  at  the  maze  of  dusty  green-cushioned 
pews  with  little  alleys  winding  hither  and  thither  among 
them;  at  the  great  three-decker  with  its  huge  sounding- 
board;  at  the  royal  escutcheon,  and  the  faded  tables  of 
the  law,  and  was  about  to  leave  as  aimlessly  as  he  had 
entered,  when  he  espied  the  open  vestry  door.  Popping 
in  his  head,  his  eye  fell  on  a  folio  bound  in  sheepskin, 
that  lay  open  on  a  chest,  a  pen  and  ink  beside  it. 

The  attorney  was  in  that  state  of  fatigue  of  body  and 
languor  of  mind  in  which  the  least  trifle  amuses.  He 
tip-toed  in,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  licking  his  lips  as  he 
thought  of  the  law-cases  that  lay  enshrined  between  those 
covers,  he  perused  a  couple  of  entries  with  a  kind  of  pro- 
fessional enthusiasm.  He  was  beginning  a  third,  which, 
being  by  a  different  hand,  was  a  little  hard  to  decipher, 
when  a  black  gown  that  hung  on  a  hook  over  against  him 
swung  noiselessly  outward  from  the  Avail,  and  a  little  old 
man  emerged  from  the  doorway  which  it  masked. 

The  lawyer,  who  was  stooping  over  the  register,  raised 


J/i?.   FISHWICK'S  DISCOVERY  371 

himself   guiltil}^      •Hallo!'    he   said,  to  cover  his  coii- 
fusiou. 

*  Hallo  ! '  the  old  man  answered  with  a  wintry  smile. 
'  A  shilling,  if  you  please.'     And  he  held  out  his  hand, 

'  Oh  ! '  said  Mr,  Fishwick,  much  chap-fallen,  '  I  was 
only  just — looking  out  of  curiosity,' 

'  It  is  a  shilling  to  look,'  the  new-comer  retorted  with 
a  chuckle.  '  Only  one  year,  I  think  ?  Just  so,  anno 
domini  seventeen  hundred  and  sixty-seven.  A  shilling, 
if  you  please.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  hesitated,  but  in  the  end  professional 
pride  swayed  him,  he  drew  out  the  coin,  and  grudgingly 
handed  it  over,  'Well,'  he  said,  'it  is  a  shilling  for 
nothing.  But,  I  suppose,  as  you  have  caught  me,  I  must 
pay,' 

'  I've  caught  a  many  that  way,'  the  old  fellow  answered 
as  he  pouched  the  shilling,  '  But  there,  I  do  a  lot  of 
work  upon  them.  There  is  not  a  better  register  kept 
anywhere  than  that,  nor  a  parish  clerk  that  knows  more 
about  his  register  than  I  do,  though  I  say  it  that  should 
not.  It  is  clear  and  clean  from  old  Henry  Eighth,  with 
never  a  break  except  at  tlie  time  of  the  siege,  and,  by  the 
way,  there  is  an  entry  about  that  that  you  could  see  for 
another  shilling.     No  ?     Well,  if  you  would  like  to  see 

a  year  for  nothing No  ?     Now,  I  know  a  lad,  an 

attorney's  clerk  here,  name  of  Chatterton,  would  give  his 
ears  for  the  offer.  Perhaps  your  name  is  Smith  ? '  the 
old  fellow  continued,  looking  curiously  at  ]\Ir,  Fishwick. 
'  If  it  is,  you  may  like  to  know  that  the  name  of  Smith 
is  in  the  register  of  burials  just  three  hundred  and  eighty- 
three  times — was  last  Friday  !  Oh,  it  is  not  Smith  ? 
Well,  if  it  is  Brown,  it  is  there  two  hundred  and  seventy 
times — and  one  over  ! ' 

'  That  is  an  odd  thought  of  yours,'  said  the  lawyer, 
staring  at  the  conceit. 


272  THE  CASTLE  INN 

*  So  many  have  said,'  the  old  mau  chuckled.  '  But  it 
is  not  Brown  '?  Jones,  perhaps  ?  That  comes  two  hun- 
dred and Oh,  it  is  not  Jones  ?  ' 

'It  is  a  name  you  won't  be  likely  to  have  once,  let 
alone  four  hundred  times  ! '  the  lawyer  answered,  with  a 
little  pride — heaven  knows  why. 

'  What  may  it  be,  then  ?  '  the  clerk  asked,  fairly  put 
on  his  mettle.  And  he  drew  out  a  pair  of  glasses,  and 
settling  them  on  his  forehead  looked  fixedly  at  his  com- 
jmnion. 

'  Fishwick.' 

'  Fishwick  !  Fishwick  ?  Well,  it  is  not  a  common 
name,  and  I  cannot  speak  to  it  at  this  moment.  But  if 
it  is  here,  I'll  wager  I'll  find  it  for  you.  D'you  see,  I 
have  them  here  in  alphabet  order,'  he  continued,  bustling 
with  an  important  air  to  a  cupboard  in  the  wall,  whence 
he  produced  a  thick  folio  bound  in  roughened  calf.  '  Ay, 
here's  Fishwick,  in  the  burial  book,  do  you  see,  volume 
two,  page  seventeen,  anno  domini  1750,  seventeen  years 
gone,  that  is.  Will  you  see  it  ?  'Twill  be  only  a  shill- 
ing. There's  many  pays  out  of  curiosity  to  see  their 
names.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  shook  his  head. 

'  Dods  !  man,  you  shall  ! '  the  old  clerk  cried  gener- 
ously; and  turned  the  pages.  '  You  shall  see  it  for  what 
you  have  paid.  Here  you  are.  "  Fourteenth  of  Septem- 
ber, William  Fishivick,  aged  eiglity-one,  harder,  West 
Qtiay,  died  the  eleventh  of  the  month.''''  No,  man,  you  are 
looking  too  low.  Higher  on  the  page  !  Here  'tis,  do  you 
see  ?     Eh — what  is  it  ?     What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  ' 

'  Nothing,'  Mr.  Fishwick  muttered.  But  he  continued 
to  stare  at  the  page  Avith  a  face  struck  suddenly  sallow, 
while  the  hand  that  rested  on  the  corner  of  the  book  shook 
as  with  the  ague. 

'Nothing?'  the  old  man  said,  staring  suspiciously  at 


MR.   FISHWICK'S  DISCOVERY  273 

him.  '  I  do  believe  it  is  something.  I  do  believe  it 
is  money.  Well,  it  is  five  shillings  to  extract.  So 
there  ! ' 

That  seemed  to  change  Mr.  Fishwick's  view.  '  It  might 
be  money,'  he  confessed,  still  speaking  thickly,  and  as  if 
his  tongue  were  too  large  for  his  mouth.  '  It  might  be,' 
he  repeated.  '  But — I  am  not  very  well  this  morning. 
Do  you  think  you  could  get  me  a  glass  of  water  ?  ' 

'  None  of  that  ! '  the  old  man  retorted  sharply,  with  a 
sudden  look  of  alarm.  '  I  would  not  leave  you  alone  with 
that  book  at  this  moment  for  all  the  shillings  I  have 
taken  !     So  if  you  want  water  you've  got  to  get  it.' 

'I  am  better  now,'  Mr.  Fishwick  answered.  But  the 
sweat  that  stood  on  his  brow  went  far  to  belie  his  words. 
'  I — yes,  I  think  I'll  take  an  extract.  Sixty-one,  was 
he  V ' 

'  Eighty-one,  eighty-one,  it  says.  There's  pen  and  ink, 
but  you'll  please  to  give  me  five  shillings  before  you  write. 
Thank  you  kindly.  Lord  save  us,  but  that  is  not  the 
one.     You're  taking  out  the  one  above  it.' 

'I'll  have  'em  all — for  identification,'  Mr.  Fishwick 
replied,  wiping  his  forehead  nervously. 

'  Sho  !     You  have  no  need. ' 

'I  think  I  will.' 

'  What,  all  ?  ' 

'  Well,  the  one  before  and  the  one  after.' 

'  Dods  !  man,  but  that  will  be  fifteen  shillings  ! '  the 
clerk  cried,  aghast  at  such  extravagance. 

'You'll  only  charge  for  the  entry  I  want?'  the  lawyer 
said  with  an  effort. 

'  Well — we'll  say  five  shillings  for  the  other  two.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  closed  with  the  offer,  and  with  a  hand 
which  was  still  unsteady  paid  the  money  and  extracted 
the  entries.     Then  he  took  his  hat,  and  hurriedly,  his 
eyes  averted,  turned  to  go. 
18 


274  THE  CASTLE  JNN 

'If  it's  money,'  the  old  clerk  said,  staring  at  him  as 
if  he  could  never  satisfy  his  inqnisitiveness,  'you'll  not 
forget  me  ? ' 

'If  it's  money,'  Mr.  Fishwick  said  with  a  ghastly 
smile,  '  it  shall  be  some  in  your  pocket. ' 

'  Thank  you  kindly.  Thank  you  kindly,  sir  !  Now 
wlio  would  ha'  thought  when  you  stepped  in  here  you 
were  stepping  into  fortune,  so  to  speak  ? ' 

'Just  so,'  Mr.  Fishwick  answered,  a  spasm  distorting 
his  face.     ' "Who'd  have  thought  it?     Good  morning  ! ' 

'  And  good-luck  ! '  the  clerk  bawled  after  him.  '  Good- 
luck  ! ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  fluttered  a  hand  backward,  but  made  no 
answer.  His  first  object  was  to  escape  from  the  court; 
this  done,  he  plunged  through  a  stream  of  traffic,  and 
having  covered  his  trail,  went  on  rapidly,  seeking  a  quiet 
corner.  He  found  one  in  a  square  among  some  ware- 
houses, and  standing,  pulled  out  the  copy  he  had  made 
from  the  register.  It  was  neither  on  the  first  nor  the 
second  entry,  however,  that  his  eyes  dwelled,  while  the 
hand  that  held  the  paper  shook  as  with  the  ague.  It 
was  the  third  fascinated  him: — 

'  Sejdemder  19///,'  it  ran,  '  at  the  Bee  in  Steep  Street, 
Julia,  daugliter  of  Anthony  and  Julia  Soane  of  Estcoinhe, 
aged  three,  and  buried  the  21st  of  the  month.'' 

Mr.  Fishwick  read  it  thrice,  his  lips  quivering  ;  then 
he  slowly  drew  from  a  separate  pocket  a  little  sheaf  of 
papers,  frayed  at  the  corners,  and  soiled  with  much  and 
loving  handling.  He  selected  from  these  a  slip;  it  was 
one  of  those  which  Mr.  Thomasson  had  surprised  on  the 
table  in  the  room  at  the  Castle  Inn.  It  was  a  copy  of  the 
attestation  of  birth  '  of  Julia,  daughter  of  Anthony  Soane, 
of  Estcombe,  England,  and  Julie  his  Avife '  ;  the  date, 
August,  1747  ;  the  place,  Dunquerque. 

The  Attorney  drew  a  long  quivering  breath,  and  put 


3IR.   FISHWICK'S  DISCOVERY  275 

the  papers  up  again,  the  packet  in  the  place  from  which 
he  had  taken  it,  the  extract  from  the  Bristol  register  in 
another  pocket.  Then,  after  drawing  one  or  two  more 
sighs  as  if  his  heart  were  going  out  of  him,  he  looked 
dismally  upwards  as  in  protest  against  heaven.  At  length 
he  turned  and  went  back  to  the  thoroughfare,  and  there, 
with  a  strangely  humble  air,  asked  a  passer-by  the  nearest 
way  to  Steep  Street. 

The  man  directed  him;  the  place  was  near  at  hand. 
In  two  minutes  Mr.  Fishwick  found  himself  at  the  door 
of  a  small  but  decent  grocer's  shop,  over  the  portal  of 
which  a  gilded  bee  seemed  to  prognosticate  more  business 
than  the  fact  performed.  An  elderly  woman,  stout  and 
comfortable-looking,  Avas  behind  the  counter.  Eyeing 
the  attorney  as  he  came  forward,  she  asked  him  what  she 
could  do  for  him,  and  before  he  could  answer  reached  for 
the  snuff  canister. 

He  took  the  hint,  requested  an  ounce  of  the  best  Scotch 
and  Havannah  mixed,  and  Avhile  she  weighed  it,  asked 
her  how  long  she  had  lived  there. 

'  Twenty -six  years,  sir,'  she  answered  heartily,  'Old 
Style.  For  the  New,  I  don't  hold  with  it  nor  them  that 
meddle  with  things  above  them.  I  am  sure  it  brought 
me  no  profit,'  she  continued,  rubbing  her  nose.  '  I  have 
buried  a  good  husband  and  two  children  since  they  gave 
it  us  ! ' 

'  Still,  I  supi^ose  people  died  Old  Style  ? '  the  lawyer 
ventured. 

'  Well,  well,  may  be.' 

'  'I'here  was  a  death  in  this  house  seventeen  years  gone 
this  September,'  he  said,  '  if  I  remember  rightly.' 

The  wonuui  pushed  away  the  snuff  and  stared  at  him. 
'  Two,  for  the  matter  of  that,'  she  said  sharply.  '  ]iut 
should  I  remember  you  ?  ' 

'No.' 


276  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Then,  if  I  may  make  so  bold,  what  is't  to  you  ?  '  she 
retorted.     '  Do  you  come  from  Jim  Masterson?  ' 

'  He  is  dead,'  Mr.  Fishwick  answered. 

She  threw  up  her  hands.  '  Lord  !  And  he  a  young 
man,  so  to  S2:)eak  !  Poor  Jim  !  Poor  Jim  !  It  is  ten 
years  and  more — ay,  more — since  I  heard  from  him. 
And  the  child  ?     Is  'that  dead  too  ?  ' 

'No,  the  child  is  alive,'  the  lawyer  answered,  speaking 
at  a  venture.  '  I  am  here  on  her  behalf,  to  make  some 
inquiries  about  her  kinsfolk.' 

The  woman's  honest  red  face  softened  and  grew  moth- 
erly. '  You  may  inquire,'  she  said,  '  you'll  learn  no  more 
than  I  can  tell  you.  There  is  no  one  left  that's  kin  to  her. 
The  father  was  a  poor  Frenchman,  a  monsieur  that  taught 
the  quality  about  here;  the  mother  was  one  of  his  people 
— she  came  from  Canterbury,  where  I  am  told  there  are 
French  and  to  spare.  But  according  to  her  account  she 
had  no  kin  left.  He  died  the  year  after  the  child  was 
born,  and  she  came  to  lodge  with  me,  and  lived  by  teaching, 
as  he  had;  but  'twas  a  poor  livelihood,  you  may  say,  and 
when  she  sickened,  she  died — just  as  a  candle  goes  out.' 

'When?'  Mr.  Fishwick  asked,  his  eyes  glued  to  the 
woman's  face. 

'  The  week  Jim  Masterson  came  to  see  us  bringing  the 
child  from  foreign  parts — that  was  buried  with  her. 
'Twas  said  his  child  took  the  fever  from  her  and  got  its 
death  that  way.  But  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know.  It 
is  true  they  had  not  brought  in  the  New  Style  then; 
but ' 

'  You  knew  him  before  ?     Masterson,  I  mean  ?  ' 

'  AVhy,  he  had  courted  me  ! '  was  the  good-tempered 
answer.  '  You  don't  know  much  if  you  don't  know  that. 
Then  my  good  man  came  along  and  I  liked  him  better, 
and  Jim  went  into  service  and  married  Oxfordshire  way. 
But  when  he  came  to  Bristol  after  his  journey  in  foreign 


3IR.  FISHWICK'S  DISCOVERY  377 

parts,  'twas  natural  lie  should  come  to  see  me;  and  my 
husband,  who  was  always  easy,  would  keep  him  a  day  or 
two — more's  the  pity,  for  in  twenty-four  hours  the  child 
he  had  with  him  began  to  sicken,  and  died.  And  never 
was  man  in  such  a  taking,  though  he  swore  the  child  was 
not  his,  but  one  he  had  adopted  to  serve  a  gentleman  in 
trouble;  and  because  his  wife  had  none.  Any  way,  it 
was  buried  along  with  my  lodger,  and  nothing  would  serve 
but  he  must  adopt  the  child  she  had  left.  It  seemed 
ordained-like,  they  being  of  an  age,  and  all.  And  I  had 
two  children  to  care  for,  and  was  looking  for  another  that 
never  came;  and  the  mother  had  left  no  more  than  buried 
her  with  a  little  help.  So  he  took  it  with  him,  and  we 
heard  from  him  once  or  twice,  how  it  fared,  and  that  his 
wife  took  to  it,  and  the  like;  and  then — well,  writing's  a 
burden.  But,'  with  renewed  interest,  'she's  a  well- 
grown  girl  by  now,  I  guess  ?  ' 

'Yes,'  the  attorney  answered  absently,  'she — she's  a 
well-grown  girl.' 

'  And  is  poor  Jim's  wife  alive  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'  Ah,'  the  good  woman  answered,  looking  thoughtfully 
into  the  street.  '  If  she  were  not — I'd  think  about  taking 
to  the  girl  myself.  It's  lonely  at  times  without  chick  or 
child.  And  there's  the  shop  to  tend.  She  could  help 
with  that.' 

The  attorney  winced.  He  was  looking  ill;  wretchedly 
ill.  But  he  had  his  back  to  the  light,  and  she  remarked 
nothing  save  that  he  seemed  to  be  a  sombre  sort  of  body 
and  poor  company.  'What  was  the  Frenchman's  name  ?  ' 
he  asked  after  a  pause. 

'Parry,'  said  she.  And  then,  sharply,  'Don't  they 
call  her  by  it  ?  ' 

'  It  has  an  English  sound,'  he  said  doubtfully,  evading 
her  question. 


278  THE   CASTLE  INN 

'  That  is  the  way  he  called  it.  But  it  was  spelled  Pare, 
just  Pare.' 

'Ah,'  said  Mr.  Fishwick.  'That  explains  it.'  He 
wondered  miserably  why  he  had  asked  what  did  not  in 
the  least  matter;  since,  if  she  were  not  a  Soane,  it  mat- 
tered not  who  she  was.  After  an  interval  he  recovered 
himself  with  a  sigh.  'Well,  thank  you,'  he  continued, 
'  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  And  now — for  the  moment 
— good-morning,  ma'am.  I  must  wish  you  good-morn- 
ing,' he  repeated,  hurriedly;  and  took  up  his  snuff. 

'  But  that  is  not  all  ?  '  the  good  woman  exclaimed  in 
astonishment.     '  At  any  rate  you'll  leave  your  name  ?  ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  pursed  up  his  lips  and  stared  at  her 
gloomily.  '  Name  ?  '  he  said  at  last.  '  Yes,  ma'am,  cer- 
tainly.   Brown.    Mr.  Peter  Brown,  the — the  Poultry ' 

'The  Poultry  ! '  she  cried,  gaping  at  him  helplessly. 

'  Yes,  the  Poultry,  London.  Mr.  Peter  Brown,  the 
Poultry,  London.  And  now  I  have  other  business  and 
shall — shall  return  another  day.  I  must  wish  you  good- 
morning,  ma'am.  Good-morning.'  And  thrusting  his 
face  into  his  hat,  Mr.  Fishwick  bundled  precipitately  into 
the  street,  and  with  singular  recklessness  made  haste  to 
jilunge  into  the  thickest  of  the  traffic,  leaving  the  good 
Avoman  in  a  state  of  amazement. 

Nevertheless,  he  reached  the  inn  safely.  When  Mr. 
Dunborougli  returned  from  a  futile  search,  his  failure  in 
which  condemned  him  to  another  twenty-four  hours  in 
that  company,  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  the  attorney's 
gloomy  face  awaiting  them  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  coffee- 
room.  The  sight  reproached  him  subtly,  he  knew  not 
why;  he  was  in  the  worst  of  tempers,  and,  for  want  of  a 
better  outlet,  he  vented  his  spleen  on  the  lawyer's  head. 

'  D — n  you  ! '  he  cried,  brutally.  '  Your  hang-dog  phiz 
is  enough  to  spoil  any  sport  !  Hang  me  if  I  believe  that 
there  is  such  another  mumiung,  whining,  whimpering 


MB.   FISHWICK'S  DISCOVERY  279 

sneak  in  the  'varsal  world  !  D'you  think  any  one  will 
have  luck  with  your  tallow  face  within  a  mile  of  him  ?  ' 
Then  longing,  but  not  daring,  to  turn  his  wrath  on  Sir 
George,  '  What  do  you  bring  him  for  ?  '  he  cried. 

'  For  my  convenience,'  Sir  George  retorted,  with  a  look 
of  contempt  that  for  the  time  silenced  the  other.  And 
that  said,  Soaue  joroceeded  to  explain  to  Mr.  Fishwick, 
who  had  answered  not  a  word,  that  the  rogues  had  got 
into  hiding;  but  that  by  means  of  persons  known  to  Mr. 
Dunborough  it  was  hoped  that  they  would  be  heard  from 
that  evening  or  the  next.  Then,  struck  by  the  attorney's 
sickly  face,  '  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well,  Mr.  Fishwick,' 
Sir  George  continued,  more  kindly.  '  The  night  has 
been  too  much  for  you.  I  would  advise  you  to  lie  down 
for  a  few  hours  and  take  some  rest.  If  anything  is  heard 
I  will  send  word  to  you.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  thanked  him,  Avithout  meeting  his  eyes; 
and  after  a  minute  or  two  retired.  Sir  George  looked 
after  him,  and  pondered  a  little  on  the  change  in  his 
manner.  Through  the  stress  of  the  night  Mr.  Fishwick 
had  shown  himself  alert  and  eager,  ready  and  not  lack- 
ing in  spirit;  now  he  had  depression  written  large  on 
his  face,  and  walked  and  bore  himself  like  a  man  sinking 
under  a  load  of  despondency. 

All  that  day  the  messenger  from  the  slums  Avas  ex- 
pected but  did  not  come  ;  and  between  the  two  men  who 
sat  downstairs,  strange  relations  prevailed.  Sir  George 
did  not  venture  to  let  the  other  out  of  his  sight;  yet  there 
were  times  when  they  came  to  the  verge  of  blows,  and 
nothing  but  the  knowledge  of  Sir  George's  swordsman- 
ship kept  Mr.  Dunborough's  temper  within  bounds.  At 
dinner,  at  which  Sir  George  insisted  that  the  attorney 
should  sit  down  with  them,  Dunborough  drank  his  two 
bottles  of  wine,  and  in  his  cups  fell  into  a  strain  pecu- 
liarly provoking. 


280  THE  CASTLE  INX 

'  Lord  !  you  make  me  eick,'  lie  said.  'All  this  pother 
about  a  girl  that  a  month  ago  your  high  mightiness  would 
not  have  looked  at  in  tlie  street.  You  are  vastly  virtu- 
ous now,  and  sneer  at  me;  but,  damme  !  which  of  us 
loves  the  girl  best  ?  Take  away  her  money,  and  will  you 
marry  her  ?  I'd  'a  done  it,  without  a  rag  to  her  back. 
But  take  away  her  money,  and  will  you  do  the  same, 
Mr.  Virtuous?' 

Sir  George  listening  darkly,  and  putting  a  great  restraint 
on  himself,  did  not  answer.  Mr.  Fish  wick  waited  a  mo- 
ment, then  got  up  suddenly,  and  hurried  from  the  room 
— with  a  movement  so  abrupt  that  he  left  his  wine-glass 
in  fragments  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A    ROUGH    AWAKENING 

Lord  Almeric  continued  to  vapour  and  romance  as  he 
mounted  the  stairs.  Mr.  Pomeroy  attended,  sneering, 
at  his  heels.  The  tutor  followed,  and  longed  to  separate 
them.  He  had  his  fears  for  the  one  and  of  the  other, 
and  was  relieved  when  his  lordship  at  the  last  moment 
hung  back,  and  with  a  foolish  chuckle  proposed  a  plan 
that  did  more  honour  to  his  vanity  than  his  taste. 

'  Hist  ! '  he  whispered.  '  Do  you  two  stop  outside  a 
minute,  and  you'll  hear  how  kind  she'll  be  to  me  !  I'll 
leave  the  door  ajar,  and  then  in  a  minute  do  you  come  in 
and  I'oast  her  !     Lord,  'twill  be  as  good  as  a  play  ! ' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  Asyou  jilease,' 
he  growled.  '  But  I  have  known  a  man  go  to  shear  and 
be  shorn  ! ' 

Lord  Almeric  smiled  loftily,  and  waiting  for  no  more, 
winked  to  them,  turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  and  sim- 
pered in. 

Had  Mr.  Thomasson  entered  with  him,  the  tutor  would 
have  seen  at  a  glance  that  he  had  wasted  his  fears;  and 
that  whatever  trouble  threatened  brooded  in  a  different 
quarter.  The  girl,  her  face  a  blaze  of  excitement  and 
shame  and  eagerness,  stood  in  the  recess  of  the  farther 
window  seat,  as  far  from  the  door  as  she  could  go;  her 
attitude  the  attitude  of  one  driven  into  a  corner.  And 
from  that  alone  her  lover  should  have  taken  warning. 
But  Lord  Almeric  saw  nothing,  feared  nothing.     Crying 


282  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Most  lovely  Julia  ! '  he  tripped  forward  to  embrace 
her,  and,  the  wine  emboldening  him,  was  about  to 
clasp  her  in  his  arms,  Avhen  she  checked  him  by  a 
gesture  unmistakable  even  by  a  man  in  his  flustered 
state. 

'My  lord,'  she  said  hurriedly,  yet  in  a  tone  of  plead- 
ing— and  her  head  hung  a  little,  and  her  cheeks  began  to 
flame.  '  I  ask  your  forgiveness  for  having  sent  for  you. 
Alas,  I  have  also  to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  a  more  seri- 
ous fault.  One — one  which  you  may  find  it  less  easy  to 
pardon,'  she  added,  her  courage  failing. 

'Try  me  ! '  the  little  beau  answered  with  ardour;  and 
he  struck  an  attitude.  '  What  would  I  not  forgive  to  the 
loveliest  of  her  sex  ?  '  And  under  cover  of  his  words  he 
made  a  second  attempt  to  come  within  reach  of  her. 

She  waved  him  back.  '  No  ! '  she  said.  '  You  do  not 
understand  me.' 

'  Understand  ?  '  he  cried  effusively.  '  I  understand 
enough  to — but  why,  my  Chloe,  these  alarms,  this  bash- 
fulness?     Sure,'  he  s^^outed, 

'  How  can  I  see  you,  and  not  love, 

While  you  as  Opening  East  are  fair  ? 
While  cold  as  Northern  Blasts  you  prove, 
How  can  I  love  and  not  despair  ? ' 

And  then,  in  wonder  at  his  own  readiness,  '  S'help  me  ! 
that's  uncommon  clever  of  me,'  he  said.  'But  when  a 
man  is  in  love  with  the  most  beautiful  of  her  sex ' 

'  My  lord  ! '  she  cried,  stamping  the  floor  in  her  impa- 
tience. '  I  have  something  serious  to  say  to  you.  Must 
I  ask  you  to  return  to  me  at  another  time  ?  Or  will  you 
be  good  enough  to  listen  to  me  now  ?  ' 

'  Sho,  if  you  wish  it,  child,'  he  said  lightly,  taking  out 
his  snuff-box.  '  And  to  be  sure  there  is  time  enough. 
But  between  us  two,  sweet ' 


A   BOUGH  AWAKENING  283 

'  There  is  nothing  between  us  ! '  she  cried,  impetuously 
snatching  at  the  word.  '  That  is  what  I  wanted  to  tell 
you.  I  made  a  mistake  when  I  said  that  there  should 
be.  I  was  mad;  I  was  wicked,  if  you  like.  Do  you  hear 
me,  my  lord  ?  '  she  continued  passionately.  '  It  was  a 
mistake.  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing.  And,  now 
I  do  understand,  I  take  it  back.' 

Lord  Almeric  gasped.  He  heard  the  words,  but  the 
meaning  seemed  incredible,  inconceivable;  the  misfor- 
tune, if  he  heard  aright,  was  too  terrible;  the  humiliation 
too  overwhelming  !  He  had  brought  listeners — and  for 
this  !  '  Understand  ?  '  he  cried,  looking  at  her  in  a  con- 
fused, chap-fallen  way.     '  Hang  me  if  I  do  understand  ! 

You  don't  mean  to  say Oh,  it  is  impossible,  stuff 

me  !  it  is.  You  don't  mean  that — that  you'll  not  have 
me  ?    After  all  that  has  come  and  gone,  ma'am  ?  ' 

She  shook  her  head ;  pitying  him,  blaming  herself,  for 
the  plight  in  which  she  had  placed  him.  '  I  sent  for 
you,  my  lord,'  she  said  humbly,  '  that  I  might  tell  you 
at  once.  I  could  not  rest  until  I  had  told  you.  I  did 
what  I  could.     And,  believe  me,  I  am  very,  very  sorry.' 

'  But  do  you  mean — that  you — you  jilt  me  ?  '  he  cried, 
still  fighting  off  the  dreadful  truth. 

'  Not  jilt  ! '  she  said,  shivering. 

'  That  you  won't  have  me  ?  ' 

She  nodded. 

'  After — after  saying  you  would  ?  '  he  wailed. 

'I  cannot,'  she  answered.  Then,  '  Cannot  you  under- 
stand?' she  cried,  her  face  scarlet.  'I  did  not  know 
until — until  you  went  to  kiss  me.' 

'  But — oh,  I  say — but  you  love  me  ?  '  he  protested. 

'  No,  my  lord,'  she  said  firmly.  '  No.  And  there,  you 
must  do  me  the  justice  to  acknowledge  that  I  never  said 
I  did.' 

He  dashed  his  hat  on  the  floor:  he  was  almost  weeping. 


284  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Oh,  damme  ! '  lie  cried,  '  a  woman  should  not — should 
not  treat  a  man  like  this.    It's  low.    It's  cruel  !    It's ' 

A  knock  on  the  door  stopped  him.  Eecollection  of  the 
listeners,  whom  he  had  momentarily  forgotten,  revived, 
and  overwhelmed  him.  With  an  oath  he  sprang  to  shut 
the  door,  but  before  he  coukl  intervene  Mr.  Pomeroy  ap- 
peared smiling  on  the  threshold  ;  and  behind  him  the 
reluctant  tutor. 

Lord  Almeric  swore,  and  Julia,  affronted  by  the  pres- 
ence of  strangers  at  such  a  time,  drew  back,  frowning. 
But  Bully  Pomeroy  would  see  nothing.  'A  thousand 
pardons  if  I  intrude,'  he  said,  bowing  this  way  and  that, 
that  he  might  hide  a  lurking  grin.  '  But  his  lordship 
was  good  enough  to  say  a  while  ago,  that  he  would  pre- 
sent us  to  the  lady  who  had  consented  to  make  him  happy. 
We  little  thought  last  night,  ma'am,  that  so  much  beauty 
and  so  much  goodness  were  reserved  for  one  of  us.' 

Lord  Almeric  looked  ready  to  cry.  Julia,  darkly  red, 
was  certain  that  they  had  overheard;  she  stood  glaring  at 
the  intruders,  her  foot  tapping  the  floor.  No  one  an- 
swered, and  Mr.  Pomeroy,  after  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  in  assumed  surprise,  pretended  to  hit  on  the  reason. 
'  Oh,  I  see;  I  spoil  sport  ! '  he  cried  with  coarse  joviality. 
'  Curse  me  if  I  meant  to  !  I  fear  Ave  have  come  mal  a 
propos,  my  lord,  and  the  sooner  we  are  gone  the  better. 

'  And  though  she  found  his  usage  rongh, 
Yet  in  a  man  'twas  well  enough  ! ' 

he  hummed,  with  his  head  on  one  side  and  an  impudent 
leer.  'We  are  interrupting  the  turtledoves,  Mr.  Thom- 
asson,  and  had  better  be  gone.' 

'  Curse  you  !  Why  did  you  ever  come  ?  '  my  lord  cried 
furiously.  '  But  she  won't  have  me.  So  there  !  Now 
you  know.' 

Mr.    Pomeroy   struck   an    attitude    of    astonishment. 


A  ROUGH  AWAKENING  285 

'Won't  have  you?'  he  cried,  'Oh,  stap  me  !  you  are 
biting  us.' 

'  I'm  not  !  And  you  know  it  ! '  the  poor  little  blood 
answered,  tears  of  vexation  in  his  eyes.  '  You  know  it, 
and  you  are  roasting  me  ! ' 

'  Know  it  ?  '  Mr.  Pomeroy  answered  in  tones  of  right- 
eous indignation.  '  I  know  it?  So  far  from  knowing  it, 
my  dear  lord,  I  cannot  believe  it  !  I  understood  that  the 
lady  had  given  you  her  word.' 

'So  she  did.' 

'Then  I  cannot  believe  that  aladyAvould  anywhere, much 
less  under  my  roof,  take  it  back.  Madam,  there  must  be 
some  mistake  here,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  continued  warmly.  '  It 
is  intolerable  that  a  man  of  his  lordship's  rank  should  be 
so  treated.     I'm  forsworn  if  he  has  not  mistaken  you.' 

'He  does  not  mistake  me  now,'  she  answered,  trem- 
bling and  blushing  painfully.  '  What  error  there  was  I 
have  explained  to  him. ' 

'  But,  damme ' 

'  Sir  ! '  she  said  with  awakening  spirit,  her  eyes  spark- 
ling. '  What  has  happened  is  between  his  lordship  and 
myself.  Interference  on  the  part  of  any  one  else  is  an 
intrusion,  and  I  shall  treat  it  as  such.  His  lordship 
understood ' 

'Curse  me!  He  does  not  look  as  if  he  understood,' 
Mr.  Pomeroy  cried,  allowing  his  native  coarseness  to  peep 
through.  '  Sink  me,  ma'am,  there  is  a  limit  to  prudish- 
ness.  Fine  words  butter  no  parsnips.  You  plighted 
your  troth  to  my  guest,  and  I'll  not  see  him  thrown  over 
i'  this  fashion.  These  airs  and  graces  are  out  of  place. 
I  suppose  a  man  has  some  rights  under  his  own  roof,  and 
when  his  guest  is  jilted  before  his  eyes  ' — here  Mr.  Pom- 
eroy frowned  like  Jove — '  it  is  well  you  should  know, 
ma'am,  that  a  woman  no  more  than  a  man  can  play  fast 
and  loose  at  pleasure.' 


286  THE  CASTLE  INN 

She  looked  at  him  with  disdain.  '  Then  the  sooner  I 
leave  your  roof  the  better,  sir,'  she  said. 

'Not  so  fast  there,  either,'  he  answered  Avith  an  un- 
pleasant smile.  '  Yon  came  to  it  when  you  chose,  and 
you  will  leave  it  when  we  choose;  and  that  is  flat,  my  girl. 
Tliis  morning,  when  my  lord  did  you  the  honour  to  ask 
you,  you  gave  him  your  word.  Perhaps  to-morrow  morn- 
ing you'll  be  of  the  same  mind  again.  Any  way,  you 
will  wait  until  to-morrow  and  see.' 

'  I  shall  not  wait  on  your  pleasure,'  she  cried,  stung  to 
rage. 

'  You  will  wait  on  it,  ma'am  !  Or  'twill  be  the  worse 
for  you.' 

Burning  with  indignation  she  turned  to  the  other  two, 
her  breath  coming  quick.  But  Mr.  Thomasson  gazed 
gloomily  at  the  floor,  and  would  not  meet  her  eyes;  and 
Lord  Almeric,  who  had  thrown  himself  into  a  chair,  was 
glowering  sulkily  at  his  shoes.  '  Do  you  mean,'  she  cried, 
'  that  you  will  dare  to  detain  me,  sir  ?  ' 

'If  you  put  it  so,'  Pomeroy  answered,  grinning,  'I 
think  I  dare  take  it  on  myself.' 

His  voice  full  of  mockery,  his  insolent  eyes,  stung  her 
to  the  quick.  '  I  will  see  if  that  be  so,'  she  cried,  fear- 
lessly advancing  on  him.  '  Lay  a  finger  on  me  if  you 
dare  !     I  am  going  out.     Make  way,  sir.' 

'  You  are  not  going  out  !  '  he  cried  between  his  teeth. 
And  held  his  ground  in  front  of  her. 

She  advanced  until  she  was  within  touch  of  hini,  then 
her  courage  failed  her;  they  stood  a  second  or  two  gazing 
at  one  another,  the  girl  with  heaving  breast  and  cheeks 
burning  with  indignation,  the  man  with  cynical  watchful- 
ness. Suddenly,  shrinking  from  actual  contact  with  him, 
she  sprang  aside,  and  was  at  the  door  before  he  could 
intercept  her.  But  with  a  rapid  movement  he  turned  on 
his  heel,  seized  her  round  the  waist  before  she  could  open 


A  ROUGH  AWAKENING  287 

the  door,  dragged  her  shrieking  from  it,  and  with  an 
oath — and  not  without  an  effort — Ihmg  her  panting  and 
breathless  into  the  Avindow-seat.  '  There  ! '  he  cried 
ferociously,  his  blood  fired  by  the  struggle  ;  '  lie  there  ! 
And  behave  yourself,  my  lady,  or  I'll  find  means  to  quiet 
you.  For  you,'  he  continued,  turning  fiercely  on  the 
tutor,  whose  face  the  sudden  scuffle  and  the  girl's  screams 
had  blanched  to  the  hue  of  paper,  '  did  you  never  hear  a 
woman  squeak  before  ?  And  you,  my  lord  ?  Are  you  so 
dainty?  But,  to  be  sure,  'tis  your  lordship's  mistress,'  he 
continued  ironically.  '  Your  pardon.  I  forgot  that.  I 
should  not  have  handled  her  so  ronghly.  However,  she 
is  none  the  worse,  and  'twill  bring  her  to  reason.' 

But  the  struggle  and  the  girl's  cries  had  shaken  my 
lord's  nerves.  '  D — n  you  ! '  he  cried  hysterically,  and 
with  a  stamp  of  the  foot,  '  you  should  not  have  done  that.' 

'Pooh,  pooh,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  answered  lightly.  'Do 
you  leave  it  to  me,  my  lord.  She  does  not  know  her  own 
mind.  'Twill  help  her  to  find  it.  And  now,  if  you'll 
take  my  advice,  you'll  leave  her  to  a  night's  reflection.' 

But  Lord  Almeric  only  repeated,  '  You  should  not  have 
done  that.' 

Mr.  Pomeroy's  face  showed  his  scorn  for  the  man  whom 
a  cry  or  two  and  a  struggling  woman  had  frightened. 
Yet  he  affected  to  see  art  in  it.  '  I  understand.  And 
it  is  the  right  line  to  take,'  he  said;  and  he  laughed 
unpleasantly.  '  No  doubt  it  will  be  put  to  your  lord- 
ship's credit.  But  now,  my  lord,'  he  continued,  'let 
us  go.  You  will  see  she  will  have  come  to  her  senses 
by  to-morrow.' 

The  girl  had  remained  passive  since  her  defeat.  But 
at  this  she  rose  from  the  window-seat  where  she  had 
crouched,  slaying  tiiem  with  furious  glances.  '  My  lord,' 
she  cried  passionately,  '  if  you  are  a  man,  if  you  are  a 
gentleman — you'll  not  suffer  this.' 


288  THE  CASTLE  INN 

But  Lord  Almeric,  who  had  recovered  from  his  tem- 
porary panic,  and  was  as  angry  with  her  as  with  Pomeroy, 
shrugged  his  shouhlers.  '  Oh,  I  don't  know,'  he  said 
resentfully.  'It  has  naught  to  do  with  me,  ma'am.  I 
don't  want  you  kept,  but  you  have  behaved  uncommon 
low  to  me;  uncommon  low.  And  'twill  do  you  good  to 
think  on  it.     Stap  me,  it  will  ! ' 

And  he  turned  on  his  lieel  and  sneaked  out. 

Mr.  Pomeroy  laughed  insolently.  '  There  is  still 
Tommy,'  he  said.  'Try  him.  See  what  he'll  say  to 
you.  It  amuses  me  to  hear  you  plead,  my  dear;  you  put 
so  much  spirit  into  it.  As  my  lord  said,  before  we  came 
in,  'tis  as  good  as  a  play.' 

She  flung  him  a  look  of  scorn,  but  did  not  answer. 
For  Mr.  Thomasson,  he  shuffled  his  feet  uncomfortably. 
'There  are  no  horses,'  he  faltered,  cursing  his  indiscreet 
companion.  '  Mr.  Pomeroy  means  well,  I  know.  And 
as  there  are  no  horses,  even  if  nothing  prevented  you, 
you  could  not  go  to-night,  you  see.' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter  and  clapped 
the  stammering  tutor  (fallen  miserably  between  two 
stools)  on  the  back.  '  There's  a  champion  for  you  ! '  he 
cried.  '  Beauty  in  distress  !  Lord  !  how  it  fires  his  blood 
and  turns  his  look  to  flame  !  What  !  going.  Tommy?' 
he  continued,  as  Mr.  Thomasson,  unable  to  bear  his  rail- 
lery or  the  girl's  fiery  scorn,  turned  and  fled  ignobly. 
'  Well,  my  pretty  dear,  I  see  we  are  to  be  left  alone. 
And,  damme  !  quite  right  too,  for  we  are  the  only  man 
and  the  only  woman  of  the  party,  and  should  come  to 
an  understanding.' 

Julia  looked  at  him  with  shuddering  abhorrence.  They 
were  alone;  the  sound  of  the  tutor's  retreating  footsteps 
was  growing  faint.  She  pointed  to  the  door.  '  If  you 
do  not  go,'  she  cried,  her  voice  sliaking  with  rage,  '  I  will 
rouse  the  house  !     I  will  call  your  people  !     Do  you  hear 


A  ROUGH  AWAKENING  289 

me  ?  I  will  so  cry  to  your  servants  that  you  shall  not 
for  shame  dare  to  keep  me  !  I  will  break  this  window 
and  cry  for  help  ?  ' 

'  And  what  do  you  think  I  should  be  doing  mean- 
while ?  '  he  retorted  with  an  ugly  leer.  '  I  thought  I  had 
shown  you  that  two  could  play  at  that  game.  But  there, 
child,  I  like  your  spirit  !  I  love  you  for  it  !  You  are  a 
girl  after  my  own  heart,  and,  damme  !  we'll  live  to  laugh 
at  those  two  old  women  yet  ! ' 

She  shrank  farther  from  him  with  an  expression  of 
loathing.  He  saw  the  look,  and  scowled,  but  for  the 
moment  he  kept  his  temper.  '  Fie!  the  Little  Masterson 
playing  the  grand  lady  ! '  he  said.  '  But  there,  you  are 
too  handsome  to  be  crossed,  my  dear.  You  shall  have 
your  own  way  to-night,  and  I'll  come  and  talk  to  you 
to-morrow,  when  your  head  is  cooler  and  those  two  fools 
are  out  of  the  way.  And  if  we  quarrel  then,  my  beauty, 
we  can  but  kiss  and  make  it  up.  Look  on  me  as  your 
friend,'  he  added,  with  a  leer  from  which  she  shrank, 
'and  I  vow  you'll  not  repent  it.' 

She  did  not  answer,  she  only  pointed  to  the  door,  and 
finding  that  he  could  draw  nothing  from  her,  he  went  at 
last.  On  the  threshold  he  turned,  met  her  eyes  with  a 
grin  of  meaning,  and  took  the  key  from  the  inside  of  the 
lock.  She  heard  him  insert  it  on  the  outside,  and  turn 
it,  and  had  to  grip  one  hand  with  the  other  to  stay  the 
scream  that  arose  in  her  throat.  She  was  brave  beyond 
most  women;  but  the  ease  with  which  he  had  mastered 
her,  the  humiliation  of  contact  with  him,  the  conviction 
of  her  helplessness  in  his  grasp  lay  on  her  still.  They 
filled  her  with  fear;  which  grew  more  definite  as  the  light, 
already  low  in  the  corners  of  the  room,  began  to  fail,  and 
the  shadows  thickened  about  the  dingy  furniture,  and  she 
crouched  alone  against  the  barred  window,  listening  for 
the  first  tread  of  a  coming  foot — and  dreading  the  night. 
19 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

MR.    POMEROY's    PLAN" 

Mr.  Pomerot  cliuckled  as  he  went  down  the  stairs. 
Things  had  gone  so  well  for  him,  he  owed  it  to  himself 
to  see  that  they  went  better.  He  had  mounted  with  a 
firm  determination  to  effect  a  breach  even  if  it  cost  him 
my  lord's  enmity.  He  descended,  the  breach  made,  the 
prize  open  to  competition,  and  my  lord  obliged  by  friendly 
offices- and  unselfish  service. 

Mr.  Pomeroy  smiled.  'She  is  a  saucy  baggage,'  he 
muttered,  '  but  I've  tamed  worse.  'Tis  the  first  step  is 
hard,  and  I  have  taken  that.  Now  to  deal  with  Mother 
Olney.  If  she  were  not  such  a  fool,  or  if  I  could  be  rid 
of  her  and  Jarvey,  and  put  in  the  Tamplins,  all's  done. 
But  she'd  talk  !  The  kitchen  wench  need  know  nothing; 
for  visitors,  there  are  none  in  this  damp  old  hole.  Win 
over  Mother  Olney  and  the  Parson — and  I  don't  see  where 
I  can  fail.  The  wench  is  here,  safe  and  tight,  and  bread 
and  water,  damp  and  loneliness  will  do  a  great  deal. 
She  don't  deserve  better  treatment,  hang  her  impu- 
dence ! ' 

But  when  he  appeared  in  the  hall  an  hour  later,  his 
gloomy  face  told  a  different  story.  '  Where's  Doyley  ?  ' 
he  growled;  and  stumbled  over  a  dog,  kicked  it  howling 
into  a  corner.     '  Has  he  gone  to  bed  ? ' 

The  tutor,  brooding  sulkily  over  his  wine,  looked  up. 
'Yes,'  he  said,  as  rudely  as  he  dared — he  was  sick  with 
disappointment.     '  He  is  going  in  the  morning.' 


3IR.   POMEROY'S  PLAN  291 

'And  a  good  riddance  ! '  Pomeroy  cried  with  an  oath. 
'  He's  off  it,  is  he  ?     He  gives  up  ?  ' 

The  tutor  nodded  gloomily.  '  His  lordship  is  not  the 
man,'  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  his  former  manner, 
'  to— to ' 

'  To  win  the  odd  trick  unless  he  holds  six  trumps,'  Mr, 
Pomeroy  cried.  '  No,  by  God  !  he  is  not.  You  are  right, 
Parson.     But  so  much  the  better  for  you  and  me  ! ' 

Mr.  Thomasson  sniffed.  '  I  don't  follow  you,'  he  said 
stiffly. 

'Don't  you?  You  weren't  so  dull  years  ago,'  Mr. 
Pomeroy  answered,  filling  a  glass  as  he  stood.  He  held 
it  in  his  hand  and  looked  over  it  at  the  other,  who,  ill  at 
ease,  fidgeted  in  his  chair.  '  You  could  put  two  and  two 
together  then,  Parson,  and  you  can  put  five  and  five 
together  now.     They  make  ten — thousand.' 

'I  don't  follow  you,'  the  tutor  repeated,  steadfastly 
looking  away  from  him. 

'  Why  ?  Nothing  is  changed  since  we  talked — except 
that  he  is  out  of  it  !  And  that  that  is  done  for  me  for 
nothing,  Avhich  I  offered  you  five  thousand  to  do.  But  I 
am  generous,  Tommy.     I  am  generous.' 

'  The  next  chance  is  mine,'  Mr.  Thomasson  cried,  with 
a  glance  of  spite. 

Mr.  Pomeroy,  looking  down  at  him,  laughed — a  galling 
laugh.  '  Lord  !  Tommy,  that  was  a  hundred  years  ago,' 
he  said  contemptuously. 

'  You  said  nothing  was  changed  ! ' 

'Nothing  is  changed  in  my  case,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  an- 
swered confidently,  '  except  for  the  better.  In  your  case 
everything  is  changed — for  the  worse.  Did  you  take  her 
part  upstairs?  Are  your  hands  clean  now?  Does  she 
see  through  you  or  does  she  not?  Or,  put  it  in  another 
way,  my  friend.  It  is  your  turn;  what  are  3^ou  going 
to  do?' 


292  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Go,' the  tutor  answered  viciously.  'And  glad  to  be 
quit.' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  sat  down  opposite  him.  '  No,  you'll  not 
go,'  he  said  in  a  low  voice;  and  drinking  off  half  his  wine, 
set  down  the  glass  and  regarded  the  other  over  it.  '  Five 
and  five  are  ten,  Tommy.  You  are  no  fool,  and  I  am 
no  fool.' 

'  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  put  my  neck  in  a  noose,' 
the  tutor  retorted.  'And  there  is  no  other  way  of  com- 
ing at  what  yon  want,  ]\Ir.  Pomeroy.' 

'  Thei'e  are  twenty,'  Pomeroy  returned  coolly.  '  And, 
mark  you,  if  I  fail,  you  are  spun,  whether  you  help  me 
or  no.  You  are  blown  on,  or  I  can  blow  on  you  !  You'll 
get  nothing  for  your  cut  on  the  head.' 

'  And  what  shall  I  get  if  I  stay  ?  ' 

'I  have  told  you.' 

'The  gallows.' 

'  No,  Tommy.     Eight  hundred  a  year.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  sneered  incredulousl}^  and  having 
made  it  plain  that  he  refused  to  think — thought  !  He 
had  risked  so  much  in  this  enterprise,  gone  through  so 
much;  and  to  lose  it  all  !  He  cursed  the  girl's  fickleness, 
lier  coyness,  her  obstinacy  !  He  hated  her.  And  do 
what  he  might  for  her  now,  he  doubted  if  he  could  cozen 
her  or  get  much  from  her.  Yet  in  that  lay  his  only 
chance,  apart  from  Mr.  Pomeroy.  His  eye  was  cunning 
and  his  tone  sly  when  he  spoke. 

'  You  forget  one  thing,'  he  said.  '  I  have  only  to  open 
my  lips  after  I  leave.' 

'  And  I  am  nicked  ?  '  Mr.  Pomeroy  answered.  '  True. 
And  you  will  get  a  hundred  guineas,  and  have  a  worse 
than  Dunborough  at  your  heels.' 

The  tutor  wiped  his  brow.  '  "What  do  you  want  ?  '  he 
whispered. 

'That  old  hag  of  a  housekeeper  has  turned  rusty,' 


2IR.   POMEROY'S  PLAN  393 

Pomeroy  answered.  '  She  has  got  it  into  lier  head  some- 
thing is  going  to  be  done  to  the  girl.  I  sounded  her  and 
I  cannot  trust  her.  I  could  send  her  jDacking,  but  Jarvey 
is  not  much  better,  and  talks  when  he  is  drunk.  The 
girl  must  be  got  from  here.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  raised  his  eyebrows  scornfully. 

'  You  need  not  sneer,  you  fool  ! '  Pomeroy  cried  with  a 
little  spirt  of  rage.     '  'Tis  no  harder  than  to  get  her  here.' 

'  Where  will  you  take  her  ?  ' 

'  To  Tamplin's  farm  by  the  river.  There,  you  are  no 
wiser,  but  you  may  trust  me.  I  can  hang  the  man,  and 
the  woman  is  no  better.  They  have  done  this  sort  of 
thing  before.  Once  get  her  there,  and,  sink  me  !  she'll 
be  glad  to  see  the  parson  ! ' 

The  tutor  shuddered.  The  water  was  growing  very 
deep.  '  I'll  have  no  part  in  it  ! '  he  said  hoarsely.  'No 
part  in  it,  so  help  me  Clod  ! ' 

'  There's  no  part  for  you  ! '  Mr.  Pomeroy  answered 
with  grim  patience.     'Your  part  is  to  thwart  me.' 

Mr.  Thomasson,  half  risen  from  his  chair,  sat  down 
again.     'What  do  you  mean?'  he  muttered. 

'You  are  her  friend.  Your  part  is  to  help  her  to  es- 
cape. You're  to  sneak  to  her  room  to-morrow,  and  tell 
her  that  you'll  steal  the  key  when  I'm  drunk  after  dinner. 
You'll  bid  her  be  ready  at  eleven,  and  you'll  let  her  out, 
and  have  a  chaise  waiting  at  the  end  of  the  avenue.  The 
chaise  will  be  there,  you'll  put  her  in,  you'll  go  back  to 
the  house.     I  suppose  you  see  it  now  ?  ' 

The  tutor  stared  in  wonder.  'She'll  get  away,'  he 
said. 

'  Half  a  mile,'  Mr.  Pomeroy  answered  drily,  as  he  filled 
his  glass.  '  Then  I  shall  stop  the  chaise — with  a  pistol  if 
you  like,  jump  in — a  merry  surprise  for  the  nymph;  and 
before  twelve  we  shall  be  at  Tamplin's.  And  you'll  be 
free  of  it.' 


294  TUE  CASTLE  INN 

Mr.  Thomasson  pondered,  his  face  flushed,  his  eyes 
moist.      '  I  think  you  are  tlie  devil  ! '  he  said  at  last. 

'Is  it  a  bargain ?  And  see  here.  His  lordship  has 
gone  silly  on  the  girl.  You  can  tell  him  before  he  leaves 
what  you  are  going  to  do.  He'll  leave  easy,  and  you'll 
have  an  evidence — of  your  good  intentions  !  '  Mr.  Pom- 
eroy  added  with  a  chuckle.     '  Is  it  a  bargain  ?  ' 

'  I'll  not  do  it  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  cried  faintly.  '  I'll 
not  do  it  ! ' 

But  lie  sat  down  again,  their  heads  came  together  across 
the  table;  they  talked  long  in  low  voices.  Presently  Mr. 
Pomeroy  fetched  pen  and  paper  from  a  table  in  one  of 
the  windows;  Avhere  they  lay  along  with  one  or  two  odd 
volumes  of  Crebillon,  a  tattered  Hoyle  on  whist,  and 
Foote's  jest  book.  A  note  was  written  and  handed  over, 
and  the  two  rose. 

Mr.  Thomasson  would  have  liked  to  say  a  word  before 
they  parted  as  to  no  violence  being  contemplated  or  used; 
something  smug  and  fair-seeming  that  would  go  to  show 
that  his  right  hand  did  not  understand  what  his  left 
was  doing.  But  even  his  impudence  was  unequal  to 
the  task,  and  with  a  shamefaced  good-night  he  secured 
the  memorandum  in  his  ]oocket-book  and  sneaked  up  to 
bed. 

He  had  every  opportunity  of  carrying  out  Pomeroy's 
suggestion  to  make  Lord  Almeric  his  confidant.  For 
when  he  entered  the  chamber  which  they  shared,  he  found 
his  lordship  awake,  tossing  and  turning  in  the  shade  of 
the  green  moreen  curtains  ;  in  a  pitiable  state  between 
chagrin  and  rage.  But  the  tutor's  nerve  failed  him.  He 
had  few  scruples — it  was  not  that;  but  he  was  weary  and 
sick  at  heart,  and  for  that  night  he  felt  that  he  had  done 
enough.  So  to  all  my  lord's  inquiries  he  answered  as 
sleepily  as  consisted  with  respect,  until  the  effect  which 
he  did  not  wish  to  produce  was  produced.     The  young 


3IR.   POMEROY'S  PLAN  295 

roue's  suspicions  were  aroused,  and  on  a  sudden  he  sat 
up  in  bed,  his  nightcap  quivering  on  his  head. 

'  Tommy  ! '  he  cried  feverishly.  '  What  is  afoot  down- 
stairs?    Now,  do  you  tell  me  the  truth.' 

'Nothing,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered  soothingly. 

'  Because — well,  she's  played  it  uncommon  low  on  me, 
uncommon  low  she's  played  it,'  my  lord  comj^lained 
pathetically;  'but  fair  is  fair,  and  willing's  willing! 
And  I'll  not  see  her  hurt.  Pom's  none  too  nice,  I  know, 
but  he's  got  to  understand  that.  I'm  none  of  your 
Methodists,  Tommy,  as  you  are  aware,  no  one  more  so  ! 
But,  s'help  me  !  no  one  shall  lay  a  hand  on  her  against 
her  will  ! ' 

'  My  dear  lord,  no  one  is  going  to  ! '  the  tutor  an- 
swered, quaking  in  his  bed. 

'  That  is  understood,  is  it  ?  Because  it  had  better  be  ! ' 
the  little  lord  continued  with  unusual  vigour.  '  I  vow 
I  have  no  cause  to  stand  up  for  her.  She's  a  d — d  saucy 
baggage,  and  has  treated  me  with — with  d — d  disrespect. 
But,  oh  Lord  !  Tommy,  I'd  have  been  a  good  husband  to 
her.  I  would  indeed.  And  been  kind  to  her.  And 
now — she's  made  a  fool  of  me  !  She's  made  a  fool  of 
me  ! ' 

And  my  lord  took  off  his  nightcap,  and  wiped  his  eyes 
with  it. 


CII AFTER   XXX 

A     GREEK     GIFT 

Julia,  left  alone,  aud  locked  in  the  room,  passed  such 
a  night  as  a  girl  instructed  in  the  world's  ways  might 
have  been  expected  to  pass  in  her  position,  and  after  the 
rough  treatment  of  the  afternoon.  The  room  grew  dark, 
the  dismal  garden  and  weedy  pool  that  closed  the  pros- 
pect faded  from  sight;  aud  still  as  she  crouched  by  the 
barred  window,  or  listened  breathless  at  the  door,  all  that 
part  of  the  house  lay  silent.  Kot  a  sound  of  life  came 
to  the  ear. 

By  turns  she  resented  and  welcomed  this.  At  one  time, 
jiacing  the  floor  in  a  fit  of  rage  and  indignation,  she  was 
ready  to  dash  herself  against  the  door,  or  scream  and 
scream  and  scream  until  some  one  came  to  her.  At  an- 
other the  recollection  of  Pomeroy's  sneering  smile,  of  his 
insolent  grasp,  revived  to  chill  and  terrify  her;  and  she 
hid  in  the  darkest  corner,  hugged  the  solitude,  and, 
scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  prayed  that  the  silence  might 
endure  for  ever. 

But  the  hours  in  the  dark  room  were  long  and  cold ; 
and  at  times  the  fever  of  rage  and  fear  left  her  in  the 
chill.  Of  this  came  another  phase  through  which  she 
passed,  as  the  night  wore  on  and  nothing  happened.  Her 
thoughts  reverted  to  him  Avho  should  have  been  her  pro- 
tector, but  had  become  her  betra3'er — aud  by  his  treachery 
had  plunged  her  into  this  misery;  and  on  a  sudden  a 
doubt  of  his  sfuilt  flashed  into  her  mind  aud  blinded  her 


A   GREEK  GIFT  297 

by  its  brilliance.  Had  sbe  done  him  an  injustice?  Had 
tbe  abduction  been,  after  all,  concerted  not  by  him  but 
by  Mr.  Thomasson  and  his  confederates  ?  The  setting 
down  near  Pomeroy's  gate,  the  reception  at  his  house, 
the  rough,  hasty  suit  paid  to  her — were  these  all  parts 
of  a  drama  cunningly  arranged  to  mystify  her?  And 
was  he  innocent?  Was  lie  still  her  lover,  true,  faithful, 
almost  her  husband  ? 

If  she  could  think  so  !  She  rose,  and  softly  walked  the 
floor  in  the  darkness,  tears  raining  down  her  face.  Oh, 
if  she  could  be  sure  of  it  !  At  the  thought,  the  thought 
only,  she  glowed  from  head  to  foot  with  happy  shame. 
And  fear  ?  If  this  were  so,  if  his  love  were  still  hers,  and 
hers  the  only  fault — of  doubting  liim^  she  feared  noth- 
ing !  Nothing  !  She  felt  her  way  to  a  tray  in  the  corner 
Avhere  her  last  meal  remained  untasted,  and  ate  and  drank 
humbly,  and  for  him.     She  might  need  her  strength. 

She  had  finished,  and  was  groping  her  return  to  the 
window-seat,  when  a  faint  rustle  as  of  some  one  moving 
on  the  other  side  of  the  door  caught  her  ear.  She  had 
fancied  herself  brave  enough  an  instant  before,  but  in  the 
darkness  a  great  horror  of  fear  came  on  her.  She  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot;  and  heard  the  noise  again.  It  was 
followed  by  the  sound  of  a  hand  passed  stealthily  over  the 
panels;  a  hand  seeking,  as  she  thought,  for  the  key:  and 
she  could  have  shrieked  in  her  helplessness.  But  while 
she  stood,  her  face  turned  to  stone,  came  instant  relief. 
A  voice,  subdued  in  fear,  whispered,  '  Hist,  ma'am,  hist  ! 
Are  you  asleep  ?  ' 

She  could  have  fallen  on  her  knees  in  her  thankfulness. 
'  No  !  no  ! '  she  cried  eagerly.     '  Who  is  it  ?  ' 

'  It  is  me — Olney  ! '  was  the  answer.  '  Keep  a  heart, 
ma'am  !     They  are  gone  to  bed.     You  are  quite  safe.' 

'  Can  you  let  me  out  ?  '  Julia  cried.     '  Oh,  let  me  out  ! ' 

'  Let  you  out  ?  ' 


298  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  Yes,  yes  !     Let  me  out?     Please  let  me  out,' 

'  God  forbid,  ma'am  ! '  Avas  the  hoi'rified  answer. 
'  He'd  kill  me.     And  lie  lias  the  key.     But ' 

'  Yes  ?  yes  ?  ' 

'  Keep  your  heart  up,  ma'am,  for  Jarvey  '11  not  see  you 
hurt;  nor  will  I.  You  may  sleej)  easy.  And  good- 
night ! ' 

She  stole  away  before  Julia  could  answer;  but  she  left 
comfort.  In  a  glow  of  thankfulness  the  girl  pushed  a 
chair  against  the  door,  and,  wrapping  herself  for  warmth 
in  the  folds  of  the  shabby  curtains,  lay  down  on  the  win- 
dow seat.  She  was  willing  to  sleep  now,  but  the  agitation 
of  her  thoughts,  the  whirl  of  fear  and  hope  that  prevailed 
in  them,  as  she  went  again  and  again  over  the  old  ground, 
kept  her  long  awake.  The  moon  had  risen  and  run  its 
course,  decking  the  old  garden  with  a  solemn  beauty  as 
of  death,  and  was  beginning  to  retreat  before  the  dawn, 
when  Julia  slept  at  last. 

When  she  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight.  A  moment 
she  gazed  upwards,  wondering  where  she  was;  the  next  a 
harsh  grating  sound,  and  the  echo  of  a  mocking  laugh 
brought  her  to  her  feet  in  a  panic  of  remembrance. 

The  key  was  still  turning  in  the  lock — she  saw  it  move, 
saw  it  withdrawn;  but  the  room  was  empty.  And  while 
she  stood  staring  and  listening  heavy  footsteps  retired 
along  the  passage.  The  chair  which  she  had  set  against 
the  door  had  been  pushed  back,  and  milk  and  bread  stood 
on  the  floor  beside  it. 

She  drew  a  deep  breath;  he  had  been  there.  But  her 
worst  terrors  had  passed  with  the  night.  The  sun  was 
shining,  filling  her  with  scorn  of  her  gaoler.  She  panted 
to  be  face  to  face  with  him,  that  she  might  cover  him 
with  ridicule,  overwhelm  him  with  the  shafts  of  her 
woman's  wit,  and  show  him  how  little  she  feared  and 
how  greatly  she  despised  him. 


A   GREEK  GIFT  299 

But  he  did  not  appear;  the  hours  passed  slowly,  and 
with  the  afternoon  came  a  clouded  sky,  and  weariness 
and  reaction  of  spirits;  fatigue  of  body,  and  something 
like  illness;  and  on  that  a  great  terror.  If  they  drugged 
her  in  her  food  ?  The  thought  was  like  a  knife  in  the 
girl's  heart,  and  while  she  still  writhed  on  it,  her  ear 
caught  the  creak  of  a  board  in  the  passage,  and  a  furtive 
tread  that  came,  and  softly  went  again,  and  once  more 
returned.  She  stood,  her  heart  beating;  and  fancied  she 
heard  the  sound  of  breathing  on  the  other  side  of  the 
door.  Then  her  eye  alighted  on  a  something  white  at 
the  foot  of  the  door,  that  had  not  been  there  a  minute 
earlier.  It  was  a  tiny  note.  While  she  gazed  at  it  the 
footsteps  stole  away  again. 

She  pounced  on  the  note  and  opened  it,  thinking  it 
might  be  from  Mrs.  Olney.  But  the  opening  lines 
smacked  of  other  modes  of  speech  than  hers;  and  though 
Julia  had  no  experience  of  Mr.  Thomasson's  epistolary 
style,  she  felt  no  surprise  when  she  found  the  initials 
F.  T.  appended  to  the  message. 

'  Madam,'  it  ran.  '  You  are  in  danger  here,  and  I  in 
no  less  of  being  held  to  account  for  acts  which  my  heart 
abhors.  Openly  to  oj)pose  myself  to  Mr.  P. — the  course 
my  soul  dictates — were  dangerous  for  us  both,  and  another 
must  be  found.  If  he  drink  deep  to-night,  I  will,  heaven 
assisting,  purloin  the  key,  and  release  you  at  ten,  or  as 
soon  after  as  may  be.  Jarvey,  who  is  honest,  and  fears 
the  turn  things  are  taking,  will  have  a  carriage  waiting 
in  the  road.  Be  ready,  hide  this,  and  when  you  are  free, 
though  I  seek  no  return  for  services  attended  by  much 
risk,  yet  if  you  desire  to  find  one,  an  easy  Avay  may  appear 
of  requiting, 

'  Madam,  your  devoted,  obedient  servant,  F.  T.' 

Julia's  face  glowed.  'He  cannot  do  even  a  kind  act 
as  it  should  be  done,'  she  thought.     'But  once  away  it 


300  THE  CASTLE  INN 

will  be  easy  to  reward  him.  At  worst  he  shall  tell  me 
how  I  came  to  be  set  down  here.' 

She  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  divided  between  anxiety 
on  that  point — for  Mr.  Thomasson's  intervention  went 
some  way  to  weaken  the  theory  she  had  built  np  with  so 
much  joy — and  impatience  for  night  to  come  and  put  an 
end  to  her  suspense.  She  was  now  as  much  concerned 
to  escape  the  ordeal  of  Mr.  Pomeroy's  visit  as  she  had 
been  earlier  in  the  day  to  see  him.  And  she  had  her 
wish.  He  did  not  come;  she  fancied  he  might  be  will- 
ing to  let  the  dullness  and  loneliness,  the  monotony 
and  silence  of  her  prison,  work  their  effect  on  her 
mind. 

Night,  as  welcome  to-day  as  it  had  been  yesterday  un- 
welcome, fell  at  last,  and  hid  the  dingy  familiar  room, 
the  worn  furniture,  the  dusky  outlook.  She  counted  the 
minutes,  and  before  it  was  nine  by  the  clock  was  the  prey 
of  impatience,  thinking  the  time  past  and  gone  and  the 
tutor  a  poor  deceiver.  Ten  was  midnight  to  her;  she 
hoped  against  hope,  walking  her  narrow  bounds  in  the 
darkness.  Eleven  found  her  lying  on  her  face  on  the  floor, 
heaving  dry  sobs  of  despair,  her  hair  dishevelled.  And 
then,  on  a  sudden  she  sprang  up;  the  key  was  grating  in 
the  lock  !  While  she  stared,  half  demented,  scarcely 
believing  her  happiness,  Mr.  Thomasson  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  his  head — he  wore  no  wig — muffled  in  a 
woman's  shawl,  a  shaded  lanthorn  in  his  hand. 

'  Come  ! '  he  said.     '  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.' 

'  Oh  ! '  she  cried  hysterically,  yet  kept  her  shaking 
voice  low;  'I  thought  you  were  not  coming.  I  thought 
it  was  all  over. ' 

'I  am  late,'  he  answered  nervously;  his  face  was  pale, 
his  shifty  eyes  avoided  hers.  '  It  is  eleven  o'clock,  but  I 
could  not  get  the  key  before.  Follow  me  closely  and 
silently,  child;  and  in  a  few  minutes  you  will  be  safe.' 


A    GREEK  GIFT  301 

'  Heaven  bless  you  ! '  she  cried,  weeping.  And  would 
have  taken  his  hand. 

But  at  that  he  turned  from  her  so  abruptly  that  she 
marvelled,  for  she  had  not  judged  him  a  man  averse  from 
thanks.  But  setting  his  manner  down  to  the  danger  and 
the  need  of  haste,  she  took  the  hint  and  controlling  her 
feelings,  prepared  to  follow  him  in  silence.  Holding  the 
lanthorn  so  that  its  light  fell  on  the  floor  he  listened  an 
instant,  then  led  the  way  on  tip-toe  down  the  dim  cor- 
ridor. The  house  was  hushed  round  them;  if  aboard 
creaked  under  their  feet,  it  seemed  to  her  scared  ears  a 
pistol  shot.  At  the  entrance  to  the  gallery  which  was 
partly  illumined  by  lights  still  burning  in  the  hall  below, 
the  tutor  paused  anew  an  instant  to  listen,  then  turned 
quickly  from  it,  and  by  a  narrow  passage  on  the  right 
gained  a  back  staircase.  Descending  the  steep  stairs  he 
guided  her  by  devious  turnings  through  dingy  offices  and 
servants'  quarters  until  they  stood  in  safety  before  an 
outer  door.  To  withdraw  the  bar  that  secured  it,  while 
she  held  the  lanthorn,  was  for  the  tutor  the  work  of  an 
instant.  They  passed  through,  and  he  closed  the  door 
softly  behind  them. 

After  the  confinement  of  her  prison,  the  night  air  that 
blew  on  her  temples  was  rajiture  to  Julia;  for  it  breathed 
of  freedom.  She  turned  her  face  up  to  the  dark  boughs 
that  met  and  interlaced  above  her  head,  and  whispered 
her  thankfulness.  Then,  obedient  to  Mr.  Thomasson's 
impatient  gesture,  she  hastened  to  follow  him  along  a 
dank  narrow  path  that  skirted  the  wall  of  the  house  for 
a  few  yards,  then  turned  off  among  the  trees. 

They  had  left  the  wall  no  more  than  a  dozen  paces 
behind  them,  when  Mr.  Thomasson  paused,  as  in  doubt, 
and  raised  his  light.  They  were  in  a  little  beech-coppice 
that  grew  close  up  to  the  Avails  of  the  servants'  offices. 
The  light  showed  the  dark  shining  trunks,  running  in 


302  THE  CASTLE  INN 

solemn  rows  this  way  and  that;  and  more  than  one  path 
trodden  smooth  across  the  roots.  The  lanthorn  disclosed 
no  more,  but  apparentlj^  this  was  enough  for  Mr.  Thom- 
asson.  He  pursued  the  path  he  had  chosen,  and  less  than 
a  minute's  walking  brought  them  to  the  avenue. 

Julia  drew  a  breath  of  relief  and  looked  behind  and 
before.  '  Where  is  the  carriage  ?  '  she  whispered,  shiver- 
ing with  excitement. 

The  tutor  before  he  answered  raised  his  lanthorn  thrice 
to  the  level  of  his  head,  as  if  to  make  sure  of  his  position. 
Then,  '  In  the  road,'  he  answered.  '  And  the  sooner  you 
are  in  it  the  better,  child,  for  I  must  return  and  replace 
the  key  before  he  sobers.  Or  'twill  be  worse  for  me,'  he 
added  snappishly,  '  than  for  you.' 

'  You  are  not  coming  with  me  ?  '  she  exclaimed  in  sur- 
prise. 

*No,  I — I  can't  quarrel  with  him,'  he  answered  hur- 
riedly. '  I — I  am  under  obligations  to  him.  And  once 
in  the  carriage  you'll  be  safe.' 

'  Then  please  to  tell  me  this,'  Julia  rejoined,  her  breath 
a  little  short.  '  Mr.  Thomasson,  did  you  know  anything 
of  my  being  carried  off  before  it  took  place  ?  ' 

'  I '? '  he  cried  effusively.     '  Did  I  know  ?  ' 

'  I  mean — were  you  employed — to  bring  me  to  Mr. 
Pomeroy's  ? ' 

'  I  employed  ?  To  bring  you  to  Mr.  Pomeroy's  ?  Good 
heavens  !  ma'am,  what  do  you  take  me  for  ?  '  the  tutor 
cried  in  righteous  indignation.  '  No,  ma'am,  certainly 
not  !  I  am  not  that  kind  of  man  ! '  And  then  blurting 
out  the  truth  in  his  surprise,  'Why,  'twas  Mr.  Dunbor- 
ough  ! '  he  said.  '  And  like  him  too  !  Heaven  keep  us 
from  him  !  ' 

'  Mr.  Dunborough  ?  '  she  exclaimed. 

'  Yes,  yes.' 

'  Oh,'  she  said,  in  a  helpless,  foolish  kind  of  way.     '  It 


A   GREEK  GIFT  303 

was  Mr.  Dunborongh,  was  it?'  And  slie  begged  "his 
pardon.  And  did  it  too  so  humbly,  in  a  voice  so  broken 
by  feeling  and  gratitude,  that,  bad  man  as  he  was,  his 
soul  revolted  from  the  work  he  was  upon;  and  for  an 
instant,  he  stood  still,  the  lanthorn  swinging  in  his  hand. 

She  misinterpreted  the  movement.  '  Are  we  right  ?  ' 
she  said,  anxiously.  '  You  don't  think  that  we  are  out 
of  the  road  ? '  Though  the  night  was  dark,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  discern  anything  beyond  the  circle  of  light 
thrown  by  the  lanthorn,  it  struck  her  that  the  avenue 
they  Avere  traversing  was  not  the  one  by  which  she  had 
approached  the  house  two  nights  before.  The  trees 
seemed  to  stand  farther  from  one  another  and  to  be 
smaller.     Or  was  it  her  fancy  ? 

But  it  was  not  that  had  moved  him  to  stand;  for  in 
a  moment,  with  a  curious  sound  between  a  groan  and 
a  curse  he  led  the  way  on,  without  answering  her.  Fifty 
paces  brought  them  to  the  gate  and  the  road.  Thomassou 
held  up  his  lanthorn  and  looked  over  the  gate. 

'  Where  is  the  carriage  ?  '  she  whispered,  startled  by 
the  darkness  and  silence. 

'It  should  be  here,'  he  answered,  his  voice  betraying 
his  perplexity.  '  It  should  be  here  at  this  gate.  But 
I — I  don't  see  it.' 

'  Would  it  have  lights  ?  '  she  asked  anxiously.  He  had 
opened  the  gate  by  this  time,  and  as  she  spoke  they 
passed  through,  and  stood  together  looking  up  and  down 
the  road.  The  moon  was  obscured,  and  the  lanthorn's 
rays  were  of  little  use  to  find  a  carriage  which  was  not 
there. 

'  It  should  be  here,  and  it  should  have  lights,'  he  said 
in  evident  dismay.  'I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  it. 
I — ha  !  What  is  that  ?  It  is  coming,  I  think.  Yes,  I 
hear  it.  The  coachman  must  have  drawn  off  a  little  for 
some  reason,  and  now  he  has  seen  the  lanthorn.' 


304  THE  CASTLE  INN 

He  liatl  only  the  sound  of  wheels  to  go  upon,  but  he 
proved  to  be  right;  she  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief  as  the  twin 
lights  of  a  carriage  apparently  approaching  round  a  bend 
of  the  road  broke  upon  them.  The  lights  drew  near 
and  nearer,  and  the  tutor  waved  his  lamp.  For  a  second 
the  driver  appeared  to  be  going  to  pass  them;  then,  as 
]\Ir.  Thomasson  again  waved,  his  lanthorn  and  shouted, 
he  drew  up. 

'  Halloa  !  '  he  said. 

Mr.  Thomasson  did  not  answer,  but  with  a  trembling 
hand  opened  the  door  and  thrust  the  girl  in.     '  God  bless 

you  !  '  she  murmured ;  '  and '     He  slammed  the  door, 

cutting  short  the  sentence. 

'  Well  ?  '  the  driver  said,  looking  down  at  him,  his  face 
in  shadow;  '  I  am ' 

'  Gro  on  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  cried  peremptorily,  and 
waving  his  lanthorn  again,  startled  the  horses  ;  which 
plunged  away  wildly,  the  man  tugging  vainly  at  the 
reins.  The  tutor  fancied  that,  as  it  started,  he  caught 
a  faint  scream  from  the  inside  of  the  chaise,  but  he  set  it 
down  to  fright  caused  by  the  sudden  Jerk;  and,  after  he 
liad  stood  long  enough  to  assure  himself  that  the  carriage 
was  keeping  the  road,  he  turned  to  retrace  his  steps  to 
the  house. 

He  was  feeling  for  the  latch  of  the  gate — his  thoughts 
no  2>leasant  ones,  for  the  devil  pays  scant  measure — when 
his  ear  was  surprised  by  a  new  sound  of  wheels  approach- 
ing from  the  direction  whence  the  chaise  had  come.  He 
stood  to  listen,  thinking  he  heard  an  echo;  but  in  a  second 
or  two  he  saw  lights  ap2>roaching  through  the  night  pre- 
cisely as  the  other  lights  had  approached.  Once  seen 
they  came  on  swiftly,  and  he  was  still  standing  gaping  in 
wonder  when  a  carriage  and  pair,  a  postboy  riding  and  a 
servant  sitting  outside,  swept  by,  dazzling  him  a  moment; 
the  next  it  was  gone,  whirled  away  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE    INN    AT    CHIPPENHAM 

The  road  which  passed  before  the  gates  at  Bastwick 
was  not  a  highway,  and  Mr.  Thomassou  stood  a  full  min- 
ute, staring  after  the  carriage,  and  wondering  what 
chance  brought  a  traveller  that  way  at  that  hour.  Pres- 
ently it  occurred  to  him  that  one  of  Mr.  Pomeroy's 
neighbours  might  have  dined  abroad,  have  sat  late 
over  the  Avine,  and  be  uow  returning;  and  that  so 
the  incident  might  admit  of  the  most  innocent  expla- 
nation. Yet  it  left  him  uueasy.  Until  the  last  hum 
of  wheels  died  in  the  distance  he  stood  listening  and 
thinking.  Then  he  turned  from  the  gate,  and  with  a 
shiver  betook  himself  towards  the  house.  He  had  done 
his  part. 

Or  had  he  ?  The  road  was  not  ten  paces  behind  him, 
when  a  cry  rent  the  darkness,  and  he  jmused  to  listen. 
He  caught  the  sound  of  hasty  footsteps  crossing  the  open 
ground  on  his  right,  and  apparently  approaching;  and 
he  raised  his  lanthorn  in  alarm.  The  next  moment  a 
dark  form  vaulted  the  railings  that  fenced  the  avenue  on 
that  side,  sprang  on  the  affrighted  tutor,  and,  seizing 
him  violently  by  the  collar,  shook  him  to  and  fro  as  a 
terrier  shakes  a  rat. 

It  was  Mr.  Pomeroy,  beside  himself  with  rage.  '  What 
have  you  done  with  her?'  he  cried.  '  You  treacherous 
hound  !     Answer,  or  by  heaven  I  shall  choke  you!  ' 

'  Done — done  with  whom  ?  '  the  tutor  gasped,  striving 
20 


306  THE  CASTLE  INN 

to  free  himself.  '  Mr.  Pomeroy,  I  am  not — what  does 
this — mean  ?  ' 

MYithher?    With  the  girl  ?  ' 

'  She  is — I  have  put  her  in  the  carriage  !  I  swear  I 
have  !  Oh  !  '  he  shrieked,  as  Mr.  Pomeroj,  in  a  fresh 
access  of  passion,  gripped  his  throat  and  squeezed  it.  '1 
have  put  her  in  the  carriage,  I  tell  you  !  I  have  done 
everything  you  told  me  ! ' 

'  In  the  carriage  ?     What  carriage  ?     In  what  carriage  ?  ' 

'  The  one  that  was  there.' 

'  At  the  gate  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  yes. ' 

'  You  fool  !  You  imbecile  ! '  Mr.  Pomeroy  roared,  as 
he  shook  him  with  all  his  strengtli.  '  The  carriage  is  at 
the  other  gate.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  gasped,  partly  with  surprise,  partly 
under  the  influence  of  Pomeroy's  violence.  '  At  the 
other  gate?'  he  faltered.  'But — there  was  a  carriage 
here.     I  saw  it.     I  put  her  in  it.     Not  a  minute  ago  ! ' 

'  Then,  by  heaven,  it  was  your  carriage,  and  you  have 
betrayed  me,'  Pomeroy  retorted ;  and  shook  his  trembling 
victim  until  his  teeth  chattered  and  his  eyes  protruded. 
'  I  thought  I  heard  wheels  and  I  came  to  see.  If  you 
don't  tell  me  the  truth  this  instant,'  he  continued  furi- 
ously, '  I'll  have  the  life  out  of  you.' 

'It  is  the  truth,'  Mr.  Thomasson  stammered,  blubber- 
ing with  fright.  '  It  was  a  carriage  that  came  up — and 
stopped.  I  thought  it  was  yours,  and  I  put  her  in.  And 
it  went  on.' 

'  A  lie,  man — a  lie  ! ' 

'  I  swear  it  is  true  !  I  swear  it  is  !  If  it  Avere  not 
should  I  be  going  back  to  the  house  ?  Should  I  be  going 
to  face  you  '? '  Mr.  Thomasson  protested. 

The  argument  impressed  Pomeroy;  his  grasp  relaxed. 
'  The  devil  is  in  it,  then  ! '  he  muttered.     '  For  no  one 


TEE  INN  AT  CEIPPENEAM  307 

else  could  have  set  a  carriage  at  that  gate  at  that  minute  ! 
Anyway,  I'll  know.  Come  on  ! '  he  continued  recklessly 
snatching  up  the  lanthorn,  which  had  fallen  on  its  side 
and  was  not  extinguished.  '  We'll  after  her  !  By  the 
Lord,  we'll  after  her.     They  don't  trick  me  so  easily  ! ' 

The  tutor  ventured  a  terrified  remonstrance,  but  Mr. 
Pomeroy,  deaf  to  his  entreaties  and  arguments,  bandied 
him  over  the  fence,  and,  gripping  his  arm,  hurried  him 
as  fast  as  his  feet  would  carry  him  across  the  sward  to  the 
other  gate.  A  carriage,  its  lamps  burning  brightly,  stood 
in  the  road.  Mr.  Pomeroy  exchanged  a  few  curt  words 
with  the  driver,  thrust  in  the  tutor,  and  followed  himself. 
On  the  instant  the  vehicle  dashed  awa}^  the  coachman 
cracking  his  whip  and  shouting  oaths  at  his  horses. 

The  hedges  flew  by,  pale  glimmering  walls  in  the  lamp- 
light; the  mud  flew  up  and  splashed  Mr.  Pomeroy's  face; 
still  he  hung  out  of  the  window,  his  hand  on  the  fasten- 
ing of  the  door,  and  a  brace  of  pistols  on  the  ledge  before 
him;  while  the  tutor,  shuddering  at  these  preparations, 
hoping  against  hope  that  they  would  overtake  no  one, 
cowered  in  the  farther  corner.  With  every  turn  of  the 
road  or  swerve  of  the  horses  Pomeroy  expected  to  see  the 
fugitives'  lights.  Unaware  or  oblivious  that  the  carriage 
he  was  pursuing  had  the  start  of  him  by  so  much  that  at 
top  speed  he  could  scarcely  look  to  overtake  it  under  the 
hour,  his  rage  increased  with  every  disappointment.  Al- 
though the  pace  at  which  they  travelled  over  a  rough 
road  was  such  as  to  fill  the  tutor  with  instant  terror  and 
urgent  thoughts  of  death — although  first  one  lamp  was 
extinguished  and  then  another,  and  the  carriage  swung 
so  violently  as  from  moment  to  moment  to  threaten  an 
overturn,  Mr.  Pomeroy  never  ceased  to  hang  out  of  the 
window,  to  yell  at  the  horses  and  upbraid  the  driver. 

And  with  all,  the  labour  seemed  to  be  wasted.  With 
wrath  and  a  volley  of  curses  he  saw  the  lights  of  Chippen- 


308  THE  CASTLE  INN 

ham  appear  in  front,  and  still  no  sign  of  the  pursued. 
Five  minutes  later  the  carriage  awoke  the  echoes  in  the 
main  street  of  the  sleeping  town,  and  Mr.  Thomasson 
drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief  as  it  came  to  a  stand. 

Not  so  Mr.  Pomeroy.  He  dashed  the  door  open  and 
sprang  out,  prepared  to  overwhelm  the  driver  with  re- 
proaches. The  man  anticipated  him.  '  They  are  here, ' 
he  said  Avith  a  sulky  gesture. 

'  Here  ?     AVhere  ?  ' 

A  man  in  a  watchman's  coat,  and  carrying  a  staff  and 
lanthorn — of  whom  the  driver  had  already  asked  a  ques- 
tion— came  heavily  round  from  the  ofE-side  of  the  car- 
riage. '  There  is  a  chaise  and  pair  just  come  in  from 
the  Melksham  Eoad,'  he  said,  'and  gone  to  the  Angel, 
if  that  is  what  you  want,  your  honour. ' 

'  A  lady  with  them  ?  ' 

'  I  saw  none,  but  there  might  be.' 

'  How  long  ago  ?  ' 

'  Ten  minutes.' 

'  We're  right  ! '  Mr.  Pomeroy  cried  with  a  jubilant 
oath,  and  turning  back  to  the  door  of  the  carriage,  slipped 
the  i^istols  into  his  skirt  pockets.  'Come,'  he  said  to 
Thomasson.  '  And  do  you,'  he  continued,  addressing  his 
driver,  who  was  no  other  than  the  respectable  Tamplin, 
'  follow  at  a  walking  pace.  Have  they  ordered  on  ?  '  he 
asked,  slipping  a  crown  into  the  night-watchman's  hand. 

'  I  think  not,  your  honour, '  the  man  answered.  '  I 
believe  they  are  staying.' 

With  a  word  of  satisfaction  Mr.  Pomeroy  hurried  his 
unwilling  companion  towards  the  inn.  The  streets  were 
dark;  only  an  oil  lamp  or  two  burned  at  distant  points. 
But  the  darkness  of  the  town  was  noon-day  light  in  com- 
parison of  the  gloom  which  reigned  in  Mr.  Thomasson 's 
mind.  In  the  grasp  of  this  headstrong  man,  whose  tem- 
per rendered  him  blind  to  obstacles  and  heedless  of  danger. 


THE  INX  AT  CHIPPENHAM  309 

the  tutor  felt  himself  swept  along,  as  incapable  of  resist- 
ance as  the  leaf  that  is  borne  upon  the  stream.  It  was 
not  until  they  turned  into  the  open  space  before  the 
Angel,  and  perceived  a  light  in  the  doorway  of  the  inn 
that  despair  gave  him  courage  to  remonstrate. 

Then  the  risk  and  folly  of  the  course  they  were  pur- 
suing struck  him  so  forcibly  that  he  grew  frantic.  He 
clutched  Mr.  Pomeroy's  sleeve,  and  dragging  him  aside 
out  of  earshot  of  Tamplin,  who  was  following  them, 
'  This  is  madness  ! '  he  urged  vehemently,  '  Sheer  mad- 
ness !  Have  you  considered,  Mr.  Pomeroy?  If  she  is 
here,  what  claim  have  we  to  interfere  with  her  ?  What 
authority  over  her  ?  What  title  to  force  her  away  ?  If 
we  had  overtaken  her  on  the  road,  in  the  country,  it 
might  have  been  one  thing.     But  here ' 

'  Here  ? '  Mr.  Pomeroy  retorted,  his  face  dark,  his 
under-jaw  thrust  out  hard  as  a  rock.  '  And  why  not 
here  ? ' 

'  Because — why,  because  she  will  aj)peal  to  the  people.' 

'  What  people  ?  ' 

'  The  people  who  have  brought  her  hither. ' 

'And  what  is  their  right  to  her?'  Mr.  Pomeroy  re- 
torted, with  a  brutal  oath. 

'The  peojole  at  the  inn,  then.' 

'  Well,  and  what  is  their  right  ?  But — I  see  your 
point,  parson  !  Damme,  you  are  a  cunning  one.  I  had 
not  thought  of  that.  She'll  appeal  to  them,  will  she? 
Then  she  shall  be  my  sister,  run  off  from  her  home  !  Ha  ! 
Ha!  Or  no,  my  lad,'  he  continued,  chuckling  savagely, 
and  slapping  the  tutor  on  the  back;  '  they  know  me  here, 
and  that  I  have  no  sister.  She  shall  be  your  daughter  ! ' 
And  while  Mr.  Thomasson  stared  aghast,  Pomeroy  laughed 
recklessly.  '  She  shall  be  your  daughter,  nuin  !  My 
guest,  and  run  off  with  an  Irish  ensign  !  Oh,  by  Gad, 
we'll  nick  her  !     Come  on  ! ' 


310  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

Mr.  Tbomasson  sliuddered.  It  seemed  to  him  the 
wildest  scheme — a  folly  beyond  speech.  Kesisting  the 
hand  with  which  Pomeroy  would  have  impelled  him 
towards  the  lighted  doorway,  '  I  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it  ! '  he  cried,  with  all  the  firmness  he  could 
muster.     '  Xothing  !     Nothing  ! ' 

'A  minute  ago  you  might  have  gone  to  the  devil  ! '  Mr. 
Pomeroy  answered  grimly,  '  and  welcome  !  Xow,  I  want 
you.  And,  by  heaven,  if  you  don't  stand  by  me  I'll 
break  your  back  !  Who  is  there  here  who  is  likely  to 
know  you?     Or  Avhat  have  you  to  fear?' 

'  She'll  expose  us  !  '  Mr.  Tbomasson  whimpered. 
'  She'll  tell  them  ! ' 

'  Who'll  believe  her  ?  '  the  other  answered  with  supreme 
contempt.  '  Which  is  the  more  credible  story — hers 
about  a  lost  heir,  or  ours  ?     Come  on,  I  say  ! ' 

Mr.  Tbomasson  had  been  far  from  antici|)ating  a  risk 
of  this  kind  when  he  entered  on  his  career  of  scheming. 
But  he  stood  in  mortal  terror  of  his  companion,  whose 
reckless  passions  were  fally  aroused;  and  after  a  brief 
resistance  he  succumbed.  Still  protesting,  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  urged  past  the  open  doors  of  the  inn-yard — 
in  the  black  depths  of  which  the  gleam  of  a  lanthorn,  and 
the  form  of  a  man  moving  to  and  fro,  indicated  that  the 
strangers'  horses  were  not  yet  bedded — and  w])  the  hos- 
pitable steps  of  the  Angel  Inn. 

A  solitary  candle  burning  in  a  room  on  the  right  of 
the  hall,  guided  their  feet  that  way.  Its  light  disclosed 
a  red-curtained  snuggery,  well  furnished  with  kegs  and 
jolly-bodied  jars,  and  roAvs  of  bottles;  and  in  the  middle 
of  this  cheerful  profusion  the  landlord  himself,  stooping 
over  a  bottle  of  port,  which  he  was  lovingly  decanting. 
His  array,  a  horseman's  coat  worn  over  night-gear,  with 
bare  feet  thrust  into  slippers,  proved  him  newly  risen 
from   bed;    but  the  ham  of  voices  and  clatter  of  plates 


THE  INN  AT  CHIPPENHAM  311 

wbicli  came  from  the  neighbouring  kitchen  were  signs 
that,  late  as  it  Avas,  the  good  inn  was  not  caught  napping. 

The  host  heard  their  steps  behind  him,  but  crying 
'  Coming,  gentlemen,  coming  ! '  finished  his  task  before 
he  turned.  Then  '  Lord  save  us  ! '  he  ejaculated,  staring 
at  them — the  empty  bottle  in  one  hand,  the  decanter  in 
the  other.  '  Why,  the  road's  alive  to-night  !  I  beg  your 
honour's  pardon,  I  am  sure,  and  yours,  sir  !  I  thought 
'twas  one  of  the  gentlemen  that  arrived  awhile  ago — come 
down  to  see  why  supper  lagged.  Squire  Pomeroy,  to  be 
sure  !  What  can  I  do  for  you,  gentlemen  ?  The  fire  is 
scarce  out  in  the  Hertford,  and  shall  be  rekindled  at 
once  ? ' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  silenced  him  by  a  gesture.  'ISTo,'  he 
said ;  '  we  are  not  staying.  But  you  have  some  guests 
here,  who  arrived  half  an  hour  ago  ?  ' 

'  To  be  sure,  your  honour.     The  same  I  was  naming.' 

'  Is  there  a  young  lady  with  them  ?  ' 

The  landlord  looked  hard  at  him.  '  A  young  lady  ?  ' 
he  said. 

'  Yes  !  Are  you  deaf,  man  ?  '  Pomeroy  retorted  wrath- 
fully,  his  imjDatience  getting  the  better  of  him.  '  Is  there 
a  young  lady  with  them  ?     That  is  what  I  asked.' 

But  the  landlord  still  stared;  and  it  was  only  after  an 
appreciable  interval  that  he  answered  cautiously :  '  Well, 
to  be  sure,  I  am  not — I  am  not  certain.  I  saw  none,  sir. 
But  I  only  saw  the  gentlemen  when  they  had  gone  up- 
stairs. William  admitted  them,  and  rang  up  the  stables. 
A  young  lady  ?  '  he  continued,  rubbing  his  head  as  if  the 
question  perplexed  him.  '  May  I  ask,  is't  some  one  your 
honour  is  seeking  ?  ' 

'  Damme,  man,  should  I  ask  if  it  weren't  ? '  Mr.  Pom- 
eroy retorted  angrily.  '  If  you  must  know,  it  is  this  gen- 
tleman's daughter,  who  has  run  away  from  her  friends.' 

'  Dear,  dear  ! ' 


312  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  And  taken  up  with  a  beggarly  Irishman  ! ' 

The  landlord  stared  from  one  to  the  other  in  great  per- 
plexity. '  Dear  me  ! '  he  said.  '  That  is  sad  !  The 
gentleman's  daughter  ! '  And  he  looked  at  Mr.  Thoni- 
asson,  whose  fat  sallow  face  was  sullenness  itself.  Then, 
remembering  his  manners,  '  Well,  to  be  sure,  I'll  go  and 
learn,'  he  continued  briskly.  '  Charles  ! '  to  a  half- 
dressed  waiter,  who  at  that  moment  appeared  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  '  set  lights  in  the  Yarmouth  and  draw  these 
gentlemen  what  they  require.  I'll  not  be  many  minutes, 
Mr.  Pomeroy.' 

He  hurried  up  the  narrow  staircase,  and  an  instant 
later  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  a  room  in  which  sat 
two  gentlemen,  facing  one  another  in  silence  before  a 
hastily-kindled  fire.  They  had  travelled  together  from 
Bristol,  cheek  by  jowl  in  a  post-chaise,  exchanging  scarce 
as  many  words  as  they  had  traversed  miles.  But  patience, 
whether  it  be  of  the  sullen  or  the  dignified  cast,  has  its 
limits;  and  these  two,  their  tempers  exasperated  by  a 
chilly  journey  taken  fasting,  had  come  very  near  to  the 
end  of  sufferance.  Fortunately,  at  the  moment  Mr.  Dun- 
borough — for  he  was  the  one — made  the  discovery  that  he 
could  not  endure  Sir  George's  impassive  face  for  so  much 
as  the  hundredth  part  of  another  minute — and  in  conse- 
quence was  having  recourse  to  his  invention  for  the  most 
brutal  remark  with  which  to  provoke  him — the  port  and 
the  landlord  arrived  together;  and  William,  who  had 
carried  up  the  cold  beef  and  stewed  kidneys  by  another 
staircase,  was  heard  on  the  landing.  The  host  helped  to 
place  the  dishes  on  the  table.  Then  he  shut  out  his 
assistant. 

'  By  your  leave.  Sir  George,'  he  said  diffidently.  'But 
the  young  lady  you  were  inquiring  for?  Might  I 
ask ? ' 

He  paused  as  if  he  feared  to  give  offence.     Sir  George 


THE  INN  AT  CHIPPENHAM  313 

laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  and  looked  at  him.  Mr. 
Dimborough  did  the  same.  '  Yes,  yes,  man,'  Soane  said. 
'  Have  you  heard  anything  ?     Out  with  it  ! ' 

'  Well,  sir,  it  is  only I  was  going  to  ask  if  her 

father  lived  in  these  parts.' 

'  Her  father  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  sir.' 

Mr.  Dunborough  burst  into  rude  laughter.  '  Oh, 
Lord  ! '  he  said.  '  Are  we  grown  so  proper  of  a  sudden  ? 
Her  father,  damme  ! ' 

Sir  George  shot  a  glance  of  disdain  at  him.  Then, 
'  My  good  fellow, '  he  said  to  the  host,  '  her  father  has 
been  dead  these  fifteen  years.' 

The  landlord  reddened,  annoyed  by  the  way  Mr.  Dun- 
borough  had  taken  him.  '  The  gentleman  mistakes  me, 
Sir  George,'  he  said  stiffly.  'I  did  not  ask  out  of  curi- 
osity, as  you,  who  know  me,  can  guess;  but  to  be  plain, 
your  honour,  there  are  two  gentlemen  below  stairs,  just 
come  in;  and  what  beats  me,  though  I  did  not  tell  them 
so,  they  are  also  in  search  of  a  young  lady. ' 

'  Indeed  ? '  Sir  George  answered,  looking  gravely  at 
him.  '  Probably  they  are  from  the  Castle  Inn  at  Marl- 
borough, and  are  inquiring  for  the  lady  Ave  are  seeking. ' 

'So  I  should  have  thought,'  the  landlord  answered, 
nodding  sagely;  'but  one  of  the  gentlemen  says  he  is 
her  father,  and  the  other ' 

Sir  George  stared.  'Yes?'  he  said.  'What  of  the 
other  ? ' 

'  Is  Mr.  Pomeroy  of  Bastwick,'  the  host  replied,  lower- 
ing his  voice.     '  Doubtless  your  honour  knows  him  ?  ' 

'  By  name.' 

'  He  has  naught  to  do  witli  the  young  lady  ?  ' 

^  Nothing  in  the  world.' 

'  I  ask  because well,  I  don't  like  to  speak  ill  of  the 

quality,  or  of  those  by  whom  one  lives.  Sir  George;  but 


314  THE  CASTLE  INN 

he  has  not  got  the  best  name  in  the  county;  and  there 
have  been  wild  doings  at  Bastwick  of  late,  and  writs  and 
bailiSs,  and  worse.  So  I  did  not  up  and  tell  him  all  I 
knew.' 

On  a  sudden  Dunborough  spoke.  '  He  was  at  College, 
at  Pembroke,'  he  said.  '  Doyley  knows  him.  He'd  know 
Tommy  too;  and  we  know  Tommy  is  with  the  girl,  and 
that  they  were  both  dropi^ed  Laycock  way.  Hang  me,  if 
I  don't  think  there  is  something  in  this  ! '  he  continued, 
thrusting  his  feet  into  slippers:  his  boots  were  drying  on 
the  hearth.  '  Thomasson  is  rogue  enough  for  anything  ! 
See  here,  man,'  he  went  on,  rising  and  flinging  down  his 
napkin ;  '  do  you  go  down  and  draw  them  into  the  hall, 
so  that  I  can  hear  their  voices.  And  I  will  come  to  the 
head  of  the  stairs.     Where  is  Bastwick  ?  ' 

'  Between  here  and  Melksham,  but  a  bit  ofE  the  road, 
sir.' 

'  It  would  not  be  far  from  Laycock  ?  ' 

'No,  your  honour;  I  should  think  it  would  be  within 
two  or  three  miles  of  it.  They  are  both  on  the  flat  the 
other  side  of  the  river.' 

'  Go  down  !  go  down  ! '  Mr.  Dunborough  answered. 
'  And  pump  him,  man  !  Set  him  talking.  I  believe  we 
have  run  the  old  fox  to  earth.  It  will  be  our  fault  if  we 
don't  find  the  vixen  ! ' 


CHAPTEE  XXXII 

CHAKCE    MEDLEY 

By  this  time  the  arrival  of  a  second  pair  of  travellers 
hard  on  the  heels  of  the  first  had  ronsed  the  inn  to  full 
activity.  Half -dressed  servants  flitted  this  way  and  that 
through  the  narrow  passages,  setting  night-caps  in  the 
chambers,  or  bringing  np  clean  snuffers  and  snuff  trays. 
One  was  away  to  the  buttery,  to  draw  ale  for  the  driver, 
another  to  the  kitchen  with  William's  orders  to  the  cook. 
Lights  began  to  sliiue  in  the  hall  and  behind  the  diamond 
panes  of  the  low-browed  windows ;  a  pleasant  hum,  a  sub- 
dued bustle,  filled  the  hospitable  house. 

On  entering  the  Yarmouth,  however,  the  landlord  was 
surprised  to  find  only  the  clergyman  awaiting  him.  Mr. 
Pomeroy,  irritated  by  his  long  absence,  had  gone  to  the 
stables  to  learn  what  he  could  from  the  postboy.  The 
landlord  was  nearer  indeed  than  he  knew  to  finding  no 
one;  for  when  he  entered,  Mr.  Thomasson,  unable  to  sup- 
press his  fears,  was  on  his  feet;  another  ten  seconds,  and 
the  tutor  would  have  fled  panic-stricken  from  the  house. 

The  host  did  not  suspect  this,  but  Mr.  Thomasson 
thought  he  did;  and  the  thought  added  to  his  confusion. 
'  I — I  was  coming  to  ask  what  had  happened  to  you,'  he 
stammered.  'You  will  understand,  I  am  very  anxious 
to  get  news.' 

*  To  be  sure,  sir,'  the  landlord  answered  comfortably. 
'  Will  you  step  this  way,  and  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to 
ascertain  something  for  certain  ? ' 


316  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Biit  the  tutor  did  not  like  his  tone;  moreover,  he  felt 
safer  in  the  room  than  in  the  public  hall.  He  shrank 
back.  '  I — I  think  I  will  wait  here  until  Mr.  Pomeroy 
returns,'  he  said. 

The  landlord  raised  his  eyebrows.  '  I  thought  you  were 
anxious,  sir,'  he  retorted,  'to  get  news?  ' 

'  So  I  am,  very  anxious  ! '  Mr.  Thomasson  replied,  wdth 
a  touch  of  the  stiffness  that  marked  his  manner  to  those 
below  him.  '  Still,  I  think  I  had  better  wait  here.  Or, 
no,  no  ! '  he  cried,  afraid  to  stand  out,  '  I  will  come  with 
you.  But,  you  see,  if  she  is  not  here,  I  am  anxious  to 
go  in  search  of  her  as  quickly  as  possible,  where — ^wher- 
ever she  is.' 

'To  be  sure,  that  is  natural,'  the  landlord  answered, 
holding  the  door  open  that  the  clergyman  might  pass 
out,  '  seeing  that  you  are  her  father,  sir.  I  think  you 
said  you  were  her  father  ?  '  he  continued,  as  Mr.  Thom- 
asson, with  a  scared  look  round  the  hall,  emerged  from 
the  room. 

'Ye — yes,'  the  tutor  faltered;  and  wished  himself  in 
the  street.     'At  least — I  am  her  step-father.' 

'  Oh,  her  step-father  ! ' 
'  '  Yes,'  Mr.  Thomasson  answered,  faintly.  How  he 
cursed  the  folly  that  had  j^ut  him  in  this  false  position  ! 
How  much  more  strongly  he  would  have  cursed  it,  had 
he  known  what  it  was  cast  that  dark  shadow,  as  of  a  lurk- 
ing man,  on  the  upper  part  of  the  stairs  ! 

'Just  so,'  the  landlord  answered,  as  he  paused  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase.  '  And,  if  you  please — what  might 
your  name  be,  sir  ?  ' 

A  cold  sweat  rose  on  the  tutor's  brow;  he  looked  help- 
lessly towards  the  door.  If  he  gave  his  name  and  the 
matter  were  followed  up,  he  would  be  traced,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  say  what  might  not  come  of  it.  At  last, 
'Mr.  Thomas,'  he  said,  with  a  sneaking  guilty  look. 


CHANCE  MEDLEY  317 

'  Mr.  Thomas,  your  reverence  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'  And  the  young  lady's  name  would  be  Thomas,  then  ? ' 

'  N-no,' Mr.  Thomasson  faltered.  'No.  Her  name — 
you  see,'  he  continued,  with  a  sickly  smile,  '  she  is  my 
step-daughter.' 

'  To  be  sure,  your  reverence.  So  I  understood.  And 
her  name  ? ' 

The  tutor  glowered  at  his  persecutor.  '  I  protest,  you 
are  monstrous  inquisitive,'  he  said,  with  a  sudden  sorry 
air  of  ofEence.  '  But,  if  you  must  know,  her  name  is 
Masterson;  and  she  has  left  her  friends  to  join — to  join 
a — an  Irish  adventurer.' 

It  was  unfortunately  said;  the  more  as  the  tutor  in 
order  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  door,  by  which  he  expected 
Mr.  Pomeroy  to  re-enter,  had  turned  his  back  on  the 
staircase.  The  lie  was  scarcely  off  his  lips  when  a  heavy 
hand  fell  on  his  shoulder,  and,  twisting  him  round  with 
a  jerk,  brought  him  face  to  face  with  an  old  friend.  The 
tutor's  eyes  met  those  of  Mr.  Duuborough,  he  uttered 
one  low  shriek,  and  turned  as  white  as  paper.  He  knew 
that  Nemesis  had  overtaken  him. 

But  not  how  heavy  a  Nemesis  !  For  he  could  not  know 
that  the  landlord  of  the  Angel  owned  a  restive  colt,  and 
no  farther  back  than  the  last  fair  had  bought  a  new  whip; 
nor  that  that  very  whip  lay  at  this  moment  where  the 
landlord  had  dropped  it,  on  a  chest  so  near  to  Mr.  Dun- 
borough's  hand  that  the  tutor  never  knew  how  he  became 
possessed  of  it.  Only  he  saw  it  imminent,  and  would 
have  fallen  in  sheer  terror,  his  coward's  knees  giving  way 
under  him,  if  Mr.  Dunborough  had  not  driven  him  back 
against  the  wall  with  a  violence  that  jarred  the  teeth  in 
his  head. 

'You  liar!'  the  infuriated  listener  cried;  'you  lying 
toad  ! '  and  shook  him  afresh  with  each  sentence.     '  She 


318  THE  CASTLE  INN 

has  run  away  from  her  friends,  has  she?  With  an  Irish 
adventurer,  eh?  And  you  are  her  father?  And  your 
name  is  Thomas?  Thomas,  eh  !  Well,  if  you  do  not 
this  instant  tell  me  where  she  is,  I'll  Thomas  you  !  Now, 
come  !     One  !     Two  !     Three  ! ' 

In  the  last  words  seemed  a  faint  promise  of  mercy; 
alas  !  it  was  fallacious.  Mr.  Thomassou,  the  lash  im- 
pending over  him,  had  time  to  utter  one  cry;  no  more. 
Then  the  landlord's  supple  cutting-whip,  wielded  by  a 
vigorous  hand,  wound  round  the  tenderest  part  of  his 
legs — for  at  the  critical  instant  Mr.  Dunborough  dragged 
him  from  the  wall — and  with  a  gasping  shriek  of  pain, 
pain  such  as  he  had  not  felt  since  boyhood,  Mr.  Thom- 
asson  leapt  into  the  air.  As  soon  as  his  breath  returned, 
he  strove  frantically  to  throw  himself  down;  but  struggle 
as  he  might,  pour  forth  screams,  prayers,  execrations,  as 
he  might,  all  was  vain.  The  hour  of  requital  had  come. 
The  cruel  lash  fell  again  and  again,  raising  great  wheals 
on  his  pampered  body:  now  he  clutched  Mr.  Dunboi'- 
ough's  arm  only  to  be  shaken  off  ;  now  he  grovelled  on 
the  floor;  now  he  was  plucked  up  again,  now  an  ill- 
directed  cut  marked  his  cheek.  Twice  the  landlord,  in 
pity  and  fear  for  the  man's  life,  tried  to  catch  Mr.  Dun- 
borough's  arm  aud  stay  the  jiunishment;  once  William 
did  the  same — for  ten  seconds  of  this  had  filled  the  hall 
with  staring  servants.  But  Mr.  Dunborough's  arm  and 
the  whirling  whip  kept  all  at  a  distance;  nor  was  it  until 
a  tender-hearted  housemaid  ran  in  at  risk  of  her  beauty, 
and  clutched  his  wrist  and  hung  on  it,  that  he  tossed  the 
whip  away,  and  allowed  Mr.  Thomassou  to  drop,  a  limp 
moaning  rag  on  the  floor. 

'  For  shame  ! '  the  girl  cried  hysterically.  '  You  black- 
guard !     You  cruel  blackguard  ! ' 

'  'Tis  he's  the  blackguard,  my  dear  ! '  the  honourable 
Mr.  Dunborough  answered,  panting,  but  in  the  best  of 


CHANCE  3IEDLEY  319 

tempers.  'Bring  me  a  tankard  of  something;  and  put 
that  rubbish  outside,  landlord.  He  has  got  no  more  than 
he  deserved,  my  dear.' 

Mr.  Thomasson  uttered  a  moan,  and  one  of  the  waiters 
stooping  over  him  asked  him  if  he  could  stand.  He  an- 
swered only  by  a  faint  groan,  and  the  man  raising  his 
eN'ebrows,  looked  gravely  at  the  landlord;  who,  recovered 
from  the  astonishment  into  which  the  fury  and  sudden- 
ness of  the  assault  had  thrown  him,  turned  his  indigna- 
tion on  Mr.  Dunborough. 

'I  am  surprised  at  you,  sir,'  he  cried,  rubbing  his 
hands  with  vexation.  '  I  did  not  think  a  gentleman  in 
Sir  George's  company  would  act  like  this  !  And  in  a 
respectable  house  !  For  shame,  sir  !  For  shame  !  Do, 
some  of  you,'  he  continued  to  the  servants,  'take  this 
gentleman  to  his  room  and  put  him  to  bed.  And  softly 
with  him,  do  you  hear  ?  ' 

'  I  think  he  has  swooned,'  the  man  answered,  who  had 
stooped  over  him. 

The  landlord  wrung  his  hands.  '  Fie,  sir — for  shame  ! ' 
he  said.     '  Stay,  Charles;  I'll  fetch  some  brandy.' 

He  bustled  away  to  do  so,  and  to  acquaint  Sir  George; 
who  through  all,  and  though  from  his  open  door  he  had 
gathered  what  was  happening,  had  resolutely  held  aloof. 
The  landlord,  as  he  went  out,  unconsciously  evaded  Mr. 
Pomeroy  who  entered  at  the  same  moment  from  the  street. 
Ignorant  of  what  was  forward — for  his  companion's  cries 
had  not  reached  the  stables — Pomeroy  advanced  at  his 
ease  and  was  surprised  to  find  the  hall,  which  he  had  left 
empty,  occuj)ied  by  a  chattering  crowd  of  half-dressed 
servants;  some  bending  over  the  prostrate  man  with 
lights,  some  muttering  their  pity  or  suggesting  remedies; 
while  others  again  glanced  askance  at  the  victor,  who, 
out  of  bravado  rather  than  for  any  better  reason,  main- 
tained his  place  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  now  and 


320  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

then  called  to  them  '  to  rub  him — they  would  not  rub 
that  off  ! ' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  did  not  at  first  see  the  fallen  man,  so 
thick  was  the  press  round  him.  Then  some  one  moved, 
and  he  did;  and  the  thing  that  had  happened  bursting 
on  him,  his  face,  gloomy  before,  grew  black  as  a  thunder- 
cloud. He  flung  the  nearest  to  either  side,  that  he  might 
see  the  better;  and,  as  they  recoiled,  'Who  has  done 
this?'  he  cried  in  a  voice  low  but  harsh  with  rage. 
'  Whose  work  is  this?'  And  standing  over  the  tutor 
he  turned  himself,  looking  from  one  to  another. 

But  the  servants  knew  his  reputation,  and  shrank 
panic-stricken  from  his  eye;  and  for  a  moment  no  one 
answered.  Then  Mr.  Duuborough,  who,  whatever  his 
faults,  was  not  a  coward,  took  the  word.  '  Whose  work 
is  it  ?  '  he  answered  with  assumed  carelessness.  '  It  is  my 
work.     Have  you  any  fault  to  find  with  it  ?  ' 

'  Twenty,  puppy  ! '  the  elder  man  retorted,  foaming 
with  rage.  And  then,  '  Have  I  said  enough,  or  do  you 
want  me  to  say  more  ?  '  he  cried. 

'Quite  enough,'  Mr.  Dunborough  answered  calmly. 
He  had  wreaked  the  worst  of  his  rage  on  the  unlucky 
tutor.     'When  you  are  sober  I'll  talk  to  you.' 

Mr.  Pomeroy  with  a  frightful  oath  cursed  his  impu- 
dence. '  I  believe  I  have  to  pay  you  for  more  than  this  ! ' 
he  panted.  '  Is  it  you  who  decoyed  a  girl  from  my  house 
to-night?' 

Mr.  Dunborough  laughed  aloud.  'No,  but  it  was  I 
sent  her  there,'  he  said.  He  had  the  advantage  of  knowl- 
edge. '  And  if  I  had  brought  her  away  again,  it  would 
have  been  nothing  to  you.' 

The  answer  staggered  Bully  Pomeroy  in  the  midst  of 
his  rage. 

'  Who  are  you  ?  '  he  cried. 

'  Ask  your  friend  there  ! '  Dunborough  retorted   with 


CHANCE  MEDLEY  321 

disdain.  '  I've  written  my  name  on  liim  !  It  should  be 
pretty  plain  to  read  ';  and  he  turned  on  his  heel  to  go 
upstairs. 

Pomeroy  took  two  steps  forward,  laid  his  hand  on  the 
other's  shoulder,  and,  big  man  as  he  was,  turned  him 
round.     '  Will  you  give  me  satisfaction  ?  '  he  cried. 

Dunborough's  eyes  met  his.  '  So  that  is  your  tone,  is 
it?'  he  said  slowly;  and  he  reached  for  the  tankard  of 
ale  that  had  been  brought  to  him,  and  that  now  stood  on 
a  chest  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

But  Mr.  Pomeroy's  hand  was  on  the  pot  first  ;  in  a 
second  its  contents  were  in  Dunborough's  face  and  drip- 
ping from  his  cravat.  '  N"ow  will  you  fight  ? '  Bully 
Pomeroy  cried;  and  as  if  he  knew  his-  man,  and  that  he 
had  done  enough,  he  turned  his  back  on  the  stairs  and 
strode  first  into  the  Yarmouth. 

Two  or  three  women  screamed  as  they  saw  the  liquor 
thrown,  and  a  waiter  ran  for  the  landlord.  A  second 
drawer,  more  courageous,  cried,  '  Gentlemen,  gentlemen 
— for  God's  sake,  gentlemen  ! '  and  threw  himself  be- 
tween the  younger  man  and  the  door  of  the  room.  But 
Dunborough,  his  face  flushed  with  anger,  took  him  by 
the  shoulder,  and  sent  him  spinning;  then  with  an  oath 
he  followed  the  other  into  the  Yarmouth,  and  slammed 
the  door  in  the  faces  of  the  crowd.  They  heard  tlie 
key  turned. 

'  My  God  ! '  the  waiter  who  had  interfered  cried,  his 
face  white,  '  there  will  be  murder  done  ! '  And  he  sped 
away  for  the  kitchen  poker  that  he  might  break  in  the 
door.  He  had  known  such  a  case  before.  Another  ran 
to  seek  the  gentleman  ui)stairs.  The  others  drew  round 
the  door  and  stooped  to  listen ;  a  moment,  and  the  sound 
they  feared  reached  their  ears — the  grinding  of  steel,  the 
trampling  of  leaping  feet,  now  a  yell  and  now  a  taunting 
laugh.  The  sounds  were  too  much  for  one  of  the  men 
21 


323  THE  CASTLE  INN 

who  heard  them:  he  beat  on  the  door  with  his  fists. 
'  Gentlemen  ! '  he  cried,  his  voice  quavering,  '  for  the 
Lord's  sake  don't,  gentlemen  !  Don't  ! '  On  which  one 
of  the  women  who  had  shrieked  fell  on  the  floor  in  wild 
hysterics. 

That  brought  to  a  pitch  the  horror  without  the  room, 
where  lights  shone  on  frightened  faces  and  huddled 
forms.  In  the  height  of  it  the  landlord  and  Sir  George 
appeared.  The  woman's  screams  were  so  violent  that  it 
was  rather  from  the  attitude  of  the  group  about  the  door 
than  from  anything  they  could  hear  that  the  two  took 
in  the  position.  The  instant  they  did  so  Sir  George 
signed  to  the  servants  to  stand  aside,  and  drew  back  to 
hurl  himself  against  the  door.  A  cry  that  the  poker  was 
come,  and  that  with  this  they  could  burst  the  lock  with 
ease,  stayed  him  just  in  time — and  fortunately;  for  as 
they  went  to  adjust  the  point  of  the  tool  between  the  lock 
and  the  jamb  the  nearest  man  cried  '  Hush  ! '  and  raised 
his  hand,  the  door  creaked,  and  in  a  moment  opened 
inwards.  On  the  threshold,  supporting  himself  by  the 
door,  stood  Mr.  Dunborough,  his  face  damp  and  pale,  his 
eyes  furtive  and  full  of  a  strange  horror.  He  looked  at 
Sir  George. 

'  He's  got  it  ! '  he  muttered  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  '  You 
had  better — get  a  surgeon.  You'll  bear  me  out,'  he  con- 
tinued, looking  round  eagerly,  'he  began  it.  He  flung 
it  in  my  face.     By  God — it  may  go  near  to  hanging  me  ! ' 

Sir  George  and  the  landlord  pushed  by  him  and  went 
in.  The  room  was  lighted  by  one  candle,  burning 
smokily  on  the  high  mantelshelf;  the  other  lay  over- 
turned and  extinguished  in  the  folds  of  a  tablecloth 
which  had  been  dragged  to  the  floor.  On  a  wooden  chair 
beside  the  bare  table  sat  Mr.  Pomeroy,  huddled  chin  to 
breast,  his  left  hand  pressed  to  his  side,  his  right  still 
resting  on  the  hilt  of  his  small-sword.     His  face  was  the 


CHANCE  MEDLEY  323 

colour  of  chalk,  and  a  little  froth  stood  on  his  lips;  but 
his  eyes,  turned  slightly  upwards,  still  followed  his  rival 
with  a  grim  fixed  stare.  Sir  George  marked  the  crimson 
stain  on  his  lips,  and  raising  his  hand  for  silence — for  the 
servants  were  beginning  to  crowd  in  with  exclamations 
of  horror — knelt  down  beside  the  chair,  ready  to  support 
him  in  case  of  need.  '  They  are  fetching  a  surgeon,'  he 
said.     '  He  will  be  here  in  a  minute.' 

Mr.  Pomeroy's  eyes  left  the  door,  through  which  Dun- 
borough  had  disappeared,  and  for  a  few  seconds  they 
dwelt  unwinking  on  Sir  George :  but  for  a  while  he  said 
nothing.  At  length,  '  Too  late,'  he  whispered.  '  It  was 
my  boots — I  slipped,  or  I'd  have  gone  through  him.  I'm 
done.     Pay  Tamplin — five  pounds  I  owe  him.' 

Soane  saw  that  it  was  only  a  matter  of  minutes,  and 
he  signed  to  the  landlord,  who  was  beginning  to  lament, 
to  be  silent. 

'If  you  can  tell  me  where  the  girl  is — in  two  words,' 
he  said  gently,  '  will  you  try  to  do  so  ?  ' 

The  dying  man's  eyes  roved  over  the  ring  of  faces.  '  I 
don't  know,'  he  whispered,  so  faintly  that  Soane  had  to 
bring  his  ear  very  near  his  lips.  '  The  parson — was  to 
have  got  her  to  Tamplin's — for  me.  He  put  her  in  the 
wrong  carriage.     He's  paid.     And — I'm  paid.' 

With  the  last  word  the  small-sword  fell  clinking  to  the 
floor.  The  dying  man  drew  himself  up,  and  seemed  to 
press  his  hand  more  and  more  tightly  to  his  side.  For 
a  brief  second  a  look  of  horror — as  if  the  consciousness 
of  his  position  dawned  on  his  brain — awoke  in  his  eyes. 
Then  he  beat  it  down.  'Tamplin's  staunch,' he  mut- 
tered. '  I  must  stand  by  Tamplin.  I  owe — pay  him  five 
pounds  for ' 

A  gush  of  blood  stopped  his  utterance.  He  gasped 
and  with  a  groan  but  no  articulate  word  fell  forward  in 
Soane's  arms.     Bully  Pomeroy  had  lost  his  last  stake  ! 


324  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Not  this  time  the  spare  thousands  the  old  squire,  good 
saving  man,  hud  left  on  hond  and  mortgage;  not  this 
time  the  coitions  thousands  he  had  raised  himself  for 
spendthrift  uses  :  nor  the  old  oaks  his  great-grand-sire 
had  planted  to  celebrate  His  Majesty's  glorious  Eestora- 
tion :  nor  the  Lelys  and  Knellers  that  great-grand-sire's 
son,  shrewd  old  connoisseur,  commissioned :  not  this  time 
the  few  hundreds  hardly  squeezed  of  late  from  charge  and 
jointure,  or  wrung  from  the  unwilling  hands  of  friends — 
but  life;  life,  and  who  shall  say  what  besides  life  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

IK    THE    CARETAGE 

Mr.  Thomassoist  was  mistaken  in  supposing  that  it 
was  the  jerk,  caused  by  the  horses'  start,  which  drew 
from  Julia  the  scream  he  heard  as  the  carriage  bounded 
forward  and  whirled  into  the  night.  The  girl,  indeed, 
was  in  no  mood  to  be  lightly  scared;  she  had  gone  through 
too  much.  But  as,  believing  herself  alone,  she  sank  back 
on  the  seat — at  the  moment  that  the  horses  plunged  for- 
ward— her  hand,  extended  to  save  herself,  touched  an- 
other hand:  and  the  sudden  contact  in  the  dark,  con- 
veying to  her  the  certainty  that  she  had  a  companion, 
with  all  the  possibilities  the  fact  conjured  up,  more 
than  excused  an  involuntary  cry. 

The  answer,  as  she  recoiled,  expecting  the  worst,  was 
a  sound  between  a  sigh  and  a  grunt;  followed  by  silence. 
The  coachman  had  got  the  horses  in  hand  again,  and  was 
driving  slowly;  perhaps  he  expected  to  be  stopped.  She 
sat  as  far  into  her  corner  as  she  could,  listening  and 
staring,  enraged  rather  than  frightened .  The  lamps  shed 
no  light  into  the  interior  of  the  carriage,  she  had  to 
trust  entirely  to  her  ears;  and,  gradually,  while  she  sat 
shuddering,  awaiting  she  knew  not  what,  there  stole  on 
her  senses,  mingling  with  the  roll  of  the  wheels,  a  sound 
the  least  expected  in  the  Avorld — a  snore  ! 

Irritated,  puzzled,  she  stretched  out  a  hand  and  touched 
a  sleeve,  a  man's  sleeve;  and  at  that,  remembering  how 
she  had  sat  and  wasted  fears  on  Mr.  Tliomasson  before 


326  THE  CASTLE  INN 

she  knew  who  he  was,  she  gave  herself  entirely  to  anger. 
'  Who  is  it  ?  '  she  cried  sharply.  '  What  are  you  doing 
here  ? ' 

The  snoring  ceased,  the  man  turned  himself  in  his 
corner.  '  Are  we  there?'  he  murmured  drowsily;  and, 
before  she  could  answer,  was  asleep  again. 

The  absurdity  of  the  position  jiricked  her.  Was  she 
always  to  be  travelling  in  dark  carriages  beside  men  who 
mocked  her  ?  In  her  impatience  she  shook  the  man  vio- 
lently. '  Who  are  you  ?  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  '  she 
cried  again. 

The  unseen  roused  himself.  '  Eh  ? '  he  exclaimed. 
'  Who — who  spoke  ?  I — oh,  dear,  dear,  I  must  have  been 
dreaming.     I  thought  I  heard ' 

'  Mr.  Fishwick  ! '  she  cried;  her  voice  breaking  between 
tears  and  laughter.  '  Mr.  Fishwick  !  '  And  she  stretched 
out  her  hands,  and  found  his,  and  shook  and  held  them 
in  her  joy. 

The  lawyer  heard  and  felt ;  but,  newly  roused  from 
sleep,  unable  to  see  her,  unable  to  understand  how  she 
came  to  be  by  his  side  in  the  post-chaise,  he  shrank  from 
her.  He  was  dumbfounded.  His  mind  ran  on  ghosts 
and  voices;  and  he  was  not  to  be  satisfied  until  he  had 
stopped  the  carriage,  and  with  trembling  fingers  brought 
a  lamp,  that  he  might  see  her  with  his  eyes.  That  done, 
the  little  attorney  fairly  wept  for  joy. 

'  That  I  should  be  the  one  to  find  you  !  '  he  cried. 
'  That  I  should  be  the  one  to  bring  you  back  !  Even  now 
I  can  hardly  believe  that  you  are  here  !  Where  have  you 
been,  child  ?     Lord  bless  us,  we  have  seen  strange  things  ! ' 

'  It  was  Mr.  Dunborough  ! '  she  cried  with  indignation. 

'I  know,  I  know,'  he  said.  'He  is  behind  with  Sir 
George  Soane.  Sir  George  and  I  followed  you.  We  met 
him,  and  Sir  George  compelled  him  to  accompany  us.' 

'  Comj)elled  him  ?  '  she  said. 


IN  THE  CARRIAGE  327 

'Ay,  witli  a  pistol  to  his  head,'  the  lawyer  answered; 
and  chuckled  and  leapt  in  his  seat — for  he  had  re-entered 
the  carriage — at  the  remembrance.  '  Oh,  Lord,  I  declare 
I  have  lived  a  year  in  the  last  two  days.  And  to  think 
that  I  should  be  the  one  to  bring  you  back  ! '  he  repeated. 
'  To  bring  you  back  !  But  there,  what  happened  to  you  ? 
I  know  that  they  set  you  down  in  the  road.  We  learned 
that  at  Bristol  this  afternoon  from  the  villains  who  car- 
ried you  oif.' 

She  told  him  how  they  had  found  Mr.  Pomeroy's  house, 
and  taken  shelter  there,  and ■ 

'  You  have  been  there  until  now  ? '  he  said  in  amaze- 
ment. '  At  a  gentleman's  house  ?  But  did  you  not 
think,  child,  that  we  should  be  anxious?  Were  there 
no  horses?  No  servants?  Didn't  you  think  of  sending 
word  to  Marlborough  ?  ' 

'  He  was  a  villain,'  she  answered,  shuddering.  Brave 
as  she  was,  Mr.  Pomeroy  had  succeeded  in  frightening 
her.  '  He  would  not  let  me  go.  And  if  Mr.  Thomasson 
had  not  stolen  the  key  of  the  room  and  released  me,  and 
brought  me  to  the  gate  to-night,  and  put  me  in  with 
you ' 

'  But  how  did  he  know  that  I  was  passing  ?  '  Mr.  Fish- 
wick  cried,  thrusting  back  his  wig  and  rubbing  his  head 
in  perplexity.  He  could  not  yet  believe  that  it  was 
chance  and  only  chance  had  brought  them  together. 

And  she  was  equally  ignorant.  'I  don't  know,'  she 
said.  '  He  only  told  me — that  he  would  have  a  carriage 
waiting  at  the  gate.' 

'  And  why  did  he  not  come  with  you  ?  ' 

'  He  said — I  think  he  said  he  was  under  obligations  to 
Mr.  Pomeroy.' 

'  Pomeroy  ?  Pomeroy  ?  '  the  lawyer  repeated  slowly. 
'  But  sure,  my  dear,  if  he  was  a  villain,  still,  having  the 
clergyman  with  you  you  should  have  been  safe.     This 


328  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Mr.  Pomeroy  was  not  in  the  same  case  as  Mr.  Dunbor- 
ough.  He  could  not  have  been  deep  in  love  after  know- 
ing you  a  dozen  hours.' 

'I  think,'  she  said,  but  mechanically,  as  if  her  mind 
ran  on  something  else,  '  that  he  knew  who  I  was,  and 
wished  to  make  me  marry  him.' 

'  Who  you  were!  '  Mr.  Fish  wick  repeated;  and — and 
he  groaned. 

The  sudden  check  was  strange,  and  Julia  should  have 
remarked  it.  But  she  did  not;  and  after  a  short  silence, 
'  How  could  he  know  ?  '  Mr.  Fishwick  asked  faintly. 

'  I  don't  know,'  she  answered,  in  the  same  absent  man- 
ner. Then  with  an  effort  which  was  apparent  in  her 
tone,  '  Lord  Almeric  Doyley  was  there,'  she  said.  'He 
was  there  too.' 

'  Ah  ! '  the  lawyer  replied,  accepting  the  fact  with  re- 
markable apathy.  Perhaps  his  thoughts  also  were  far 
away.     '  He  was  there,  was  he  ?  ' 

'  Yes,'  she  said.     '  He  was  there,  and  he '  then,  in 

a  changed  tone,  '  Did  you  say  that  Sir  George  was  behind 
us?' 

'  He  should  be,'  he  answered;  and,  occupied  as  she  was 
with  her  own  trouble,  she  was  struck  with  the  gloom  of 
the  attorney's  tone.  'We  settled,'  he  continued,  'as 
soon  as  we  learned  where  the  men  had  left  you,  that  I 
should  start  for  Calne  and  make  inquiries  there,  and  they 
should  start  an  hour  later  for  Chippenham  and  do  the 
same  there.  Which  reminds  me  that  we  should  be  near- 
ing  Calne.     You  would  like  to  rest  there  ?  ' 

'I  would  rather  go  forward  to  Marlborough,'  she  an- 
swered feverishly,  '  if  you  could  send  to  Chippenliam  to 
tell  them  I  am  safe  ?  I  would  rather  go  back  at  once, 
and  quietly.' 

'  To  be  sure,'  he  said,  patting  her  hand.  '  To  be  sure, 
to  be  sure,'  he  repeated,  his  voice  shaking  as  if  he  wrestled 


IW  TEE  CARRIAGE  339 

with  some  emotion.  '  You'll  be  glad  to  be  with — with 
your  mother.' 

Julia  wondered  a  little  at  his  tone,  but  in  the  main  he 
had  described  her  feelings.  She  had  gone  through  so 
many  things  that,  courageous  as  she  was,  she  longed  for 
rest  and  a  little  time  to  think.  She  assented  in  silence 
therefore,  and,  wonderful  to  relate,  he  fell  silent  too,  and 
remained  so  until  they  reached  Calne.  There  the  inn 
was  roused;  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  Chippenham; 
and  while  a  relay  of  horses  was  prepared  he  made  her 
enter  the  house  and  eat  and  drink.  Had  he  stayed  at 
that,  and  preserved  when  he  re-entered  the  carriage  the 
discreet  silence  he  had  maintained  before,  it  is  probable 
that  she  would  have  fallen  asleep  in  sheer  weariness,  and 
deferred  to  the  calmer  hours  of  the  morning  the  problem 
that  occupied  her.  But  as  they  settled  themselves  in 
their  corners,  and  the  carriage  rolled  out  of  the  town,  the 
attorney  muttered  that  he  did  not  doubt  Sir  George  would 
be  at  Marlborough  to  breakfast.  This  set  the  girl's  mind 
running.  She  moved  restlessly,  and  presently,  '  When 
did  you  hear  what  had  happened  to  me  ? '  she  asked. 

'A  few  minutes  after  you  were  carried  off,'  he  an- 
swered; '  but  until  Sir  George  appeared,  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later,  nothing  was  done.' 

'  And  he  started  in  pursuit  ?  '  To  hear  it  gave  her  a 
delicious  thrill  between  pain  and  pleasure. 

'Well,  at  first,  to  confess  the  truth,'  Mr.  Fishwick 
answered  humbly,  '  I  thought  it  was  his  doing,  and ' 

'  You  did  ?  '  she  cried  in  surprise. 

'Yes,  I  did;  even  I  did.  And  until  we  met  Mr.  Dun- 
borough,  and  Sir  George  got  the  truth  from  him — I  had 
no  certainty.     More  shame  to  me  ! ' 

She  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back  the  confession  that  rose 
to  them,  and  for  a  little  while  was  silent.  Then,  to  his 
astonishment,  '  Will  he  ever  forgive  me  ?  '  she  cried,  her 


330  THE  CASTLE  INN 

voice  tremulous.    '  How  shall  I  tell  him  ?     I  was  mad 
— I  must  have  been  mad.' 

*  My  dear  child,'  the  attorney  answered  in  alarm,  '  com- 
pose yourself.     What  is  it  ?     What  is  the  matter  ?  ' 

*  I,  too,  thought  it  was  he  !  I,  even  I.  I  thought  that 
he  wanted  to  rid  himself  of  me,'  she  cried,  pouring  forth 
her  confession  in  shame  and  abasement.  '  There  !  I  can 
hardly  bear  to  tell  you  in  the  dark,  and  how  shall  I  tell 
him  in  the  light? ' 

'  Tut-tut  ! '  Mr.  Fishwick  answered.  '  What  need  to 
tell  any  one?     Thoughts  are  free.' 

'  Oh,  but ' — she  laughed  hysterically — '  I  was  not  free, 
and  I — what  do  you  think  I  did  ? '  She  was  growing 
more  and  more  excited. 

'  Tut-tut  ! '  the  lawyer  said.     '  What  matter  ?  ' 

'  I  promised — to  marry  some  one  else.' 

'  Good  Lord  ! '  he  said.  The  words  were  forced  from 
him. 

'  Some  one  else  ! '  she  repeated.  '  I  was  asked  to  be 
my  lady,  and  it  tempted  me  !  Think  !  It  tempted  me,' 
she  continued  with  a  second  laugh,  bitterly  contemptuous. 
'  Oh,  what  a  worm — what  a  thing  I  am  !  It  tempted  me. 
To  be  my  lady,  and  to  have  my  jewels,  and  to  go  to  Ean- 
elagh  and  the  masquerades  !  To  have  my  box  at  the 
King's  House  and  my  frolic  in  the  pit  !  And  my  woman 
as  ugly  as  I  liked — if  he  might  have  my  lips  !  Think  of 
it,  think  of  it  !  That  anyone  should  be  so  low  !  Or  no, 
no,  no  ! '  she  cried  in  a  different  tone.  '  Don't  believe 
me  !  I  am  not  that  !  I  am  not  so  vile  !  But  I  thought 
he  had  tricked  me,  I  thought  he  had  cheated  me,  I 
thought  that  this  Avas  his  work,  and  I  was  mad  !  I 
think  I  was  mad  ! ' 

'Dear,  dear,'  Mr.  Fishwick  said  rubbing  his  head. 
His  tone  was  sympathetic;  yet,  strange  to  relate,  there 
was  no  real  smack  of  sorrow  in  it.     Nay,  an  acute  ear 


IN  THE  CARRIAGE  331 

might  have  caught  a  note  of  relief,  of  hope,  almost  of 
eagerneBS.  'Dear,  dear,  to  be  sure  !'  he  contiuued;  'I 
suppose — it  was  Lord  Almeric  Doyley,  the  nobleman 
I  saw  at  Oxford  ?  ' 

'  Yes  ! ' 

'  And  you  don't  know  what  to  do,  child  ?  ' 

'To  do  ?  '  she  exclaimed. 

'  Which — I  mean  which  you  shall  accept.  Eeally,'  Mr. 
Fishwick  continued,  his  brain  succumbing  to  a  kind  of 
vertigo  as  he  caught  himself  balancing  the  pretensions 
of  Sir  George  and  Lord  Almeric,  '  it  is  a  very  remarkable 
position  for  any  young  lady  to  enjoy,  however  born. 
Such  a  choice ' 

'  Choice  ! '  she  cried  fiercely,  out  of  the  darkness. 
'  There  is  no  choice.  Don't  you  understand  ?  I  told 
him  No,  no,  no,  a  thousand  times  No  ! ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  sighed.  '  But  I  understood  you  to  say,' 
he  answered  meekly,  '  that  you  did  not  know  what  to  do.' 

'  How  to  tell  Sir  George  !     How  to  tell  him. ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  he  said 
earnestly,  '  I  would  not  tell  him.  Take  my  advice,  child. 
No  harm  has  been  done.     You  said  No  to  the  other.' 

'  I  said  Yes,'  she  retorted. 

'  But  I  thought ' 

'And  then  I  said  No,'  she  cried,  between  tears  and 
foolish  laughter.     '  Cannot  you  understand  ?  ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  could  not ;  but,  '  Anyway,  do  not  tell 
him,'  he  said.  'There  is  no  need,  and  before  marriage 
men  think  much  of  that  at  which  they  laugh  afterwards.' 

'  And  much  of  a  woman  of  whom  they  think  nothing 
afterwards,'  she  answered. 

'  Yet  do  not  tell  him,'  he  pleaded.  From  the  sound  of 
his  voice  she  knew  that  he  was  leaning  forward.  '  Or  at 
least  wait.  Take  the  advice  of  one  older  than  you,  who 
knows  the  world,  and  wait.' 


333  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  And  talk  to  him,  listen  to  him,  smile  on  his  suit  with 
a  lie  in  my  heart  ?  Never  ? '  she  cried.  Then  with  a 
new  strange  pride,  a  faint  touch  of  stateliness  in  her 
tone,  '  You  forget  who  I  am,  Mr.  Fishwick, '  she  said. 
'  I  am  as  much  a  Soane  as  he  is,  and  it  becomes  me  to — 
to  remember  that.  Believe  me,  I  would  far  rather  resign 
all  hope  of  entering  his  house,  though  I  love  him,  than 
enter  it  with  a  secret  in  my  heart.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  groaned.  He  told  himself  that  this 
would  be  the  last  straw.  This  would  give  Sir  George  the 
handle  he  needed.     She  would  never  enter  that  house. 

'I  have  not  been  true  to  him,'  she  said.  '  But  I  will 
be  true  now.' 

'  The  truth  is — is  very  costly,'  Mr.  Fishwick  murmured 
almost  under  his  breath.  '  I  don't  know  that  poor  people 
can  always  afford  it,  child.' 

'  For  shame  ! '  she  cried  hotly.  '  For  shame  !  But 
there,'  she  continued,  'I  know  you  do  not  mean  it,  I 
know  that  what  you  bid  me  do  you  would  not  do  your- 
self. Would  you  have  sold  my  cause,  would  you  have 
hidden  the  truth  for  thousands  ?  If  Sir  George  had  come 
to  you  to  bribe  you,  would  you  have  taken  anything? 
Any  sum,  however  large?  I  know  you  would  not.  My 
life  on  it,  you  would  not.  You  are  an  honest  man,'  she 
cried  warmly. 

The  honest  man  was  silent  awhile.  Presently  he  looked 
out  of  the  carriage.  The  moon  had  risen  over  Saver- 
nake;  by  its  light  he  saw  that  they  were  passing  Manton 
village.  In  the  vale  on  the  right  the  tower  of  Preshute 
Church,  lifting  its  head  from  a  dark  bower  of  trees, 
spoke  a  solemn  language,  seconding  hers.  '  God  bless 
you  ! '  he  said  in  a  low  voice.     '  God  bless  you. ' 

A  minute  later  the  horses  swerved  to  the  right,  and 
half  a  dozen  lights  keeping  vigil  in  the  Castle  Inn  gleamed 
out  along  the  dark  front.     The  post-chaise  rolled  across 


/iV"  TEE  CARRIAGE  333 

the  open,  and  drew  up  before  the  door.  Julia's  strange 
journey  was  over.  Its  stages,  sombre  in  the  retrospect, 
rose  before  her  as  she  stepped  from  the  carriage:  yet,  had 
she  known  all,  the  memories  at  which  she  shuddered 
would  have  worn  a  darker  hue.  But  it  was  not  until 
a  late  hour  of  the  following  morning  that  even  the  law- 
yer heard  what  had  happened  at  Chippenham. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

BAD    NEWS 

The  attorney  entered  the  Mastersons'  room  a  little 
before  eleven  next  morning;  Julia  was  there,  and  Mrs. 
Masterson.  The  latter  on  seeing  him  held  up  her  hands 
in  dismay.  '  Lord's  sakes,  Mr.  Fishwick  ! '  the  good 
woman  cried,  '  why,  you  are  the  ghost  of  yourself  !  Ad- 
venturing does  not  suit  you,  that's  certain.  But  I  don't 
wonder.  I  am  sure  I  have  not  slept  a  wink  these  three 
nights  that  I  have  not  dreamt  of  Bessy  Canning  and  that 
horrid  old  Squires  ;  which,  she  did  it  without  a  doubt. 
Don't  go  to  say  you've  bad  news  this  morning.' 

Certain  it  was  that  Mr.  Fishwick  looked  woefully  de- 
pressed. The  night's  sleep,  which  had  restored  the  roses 
to  Julia's  cheeks  and  the  light  to  her  eyes,  had  done  noth- 
ing for  him  ;  or  perhaps  he  had  not  slept.  His  eyes 
avoided  the  girl's  look  of  inquiry.  '  I've  no  news 
this  morning,'  he  said  awkwardly.  'And  yet  I  have 
news.' 

'  Bad  ?  '  the  girl  said,  nodding  her  comprehension;  and 
her  colour  slowly  faded. 

'  Bad,'  he  said  gravely,  looking  down  at  the  table. 

Julia  took  her  fostermother's  hand  in  hers,  and  patted 
it  ;  they  were  sitting  side  by  side.  The  elder  woman, 
whose  face  was  still  furrowed  by  the  tears  she  had  shed 
in  her  bereavement,  began  to  tremble.  'Tell  us,'  the 
girl  said  bravely.      '  What  is  it  ?  ' 

'  God  help  me,'  Mr.  Fishwick  answered,  his  face  quiver- 


BAD  NEWS  335 

ing.  '  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  tell  you.  I  don't  in- 
deed. But  I  must. '  Then,  in  a  voice  harsh  with  pain, 
'  Child,  I  have  made  a  mistake,'  he  cried.  '  I  am  wrong, 
I  was  wrong,  I  have  been  wrong  from  the  beginning.  God 
help  me  !     And  God  help  iis  all  ! ' 

The  elder  woman  broke  into  frightened  weeping.  The 
younger  grew  pale  and  paler:  grew  presently  white  to  the 
lips.  Still  her  eyes  met  bis,  and  did  not  flinch.  '  Is  it — 
about  our  case?  '  she  whispered. 

'  Yes  !     Oh,  my  dear,  will  you  ever  forgive  me  ?  ' 

'  About  my  birth  ?  ' 

He  nodded. 

'  I  am  not  Julia  Soane  ?    Is  that  it  ?  ' 

He  nodded  again. 

'  Not  a  Soane — at  all  ?  ' 

'  No  ;  God  forgive  me,  no  ! ' 

She  continued  to  hold  the  weeping  woman's  hand  in 
hers,  and  to  look  at  him  ;  but  for  a  long  minute  she 
seemed  not  even  to  breathe.  Then  in  a  voice  that,  not- 
withstaudiug  the  effort  she  made,  sounded  harsh  in  his 
ears,  '  Tell  me  all,'  she  muttered.  '  I  suppose — you  have 
found  something  ! ' 

'I  have,'  he  said.  He  looked  old,  and  worn,  and 
shabby;  and  was  at  once  the  surest  and  the  saddest 
corroboration  of  his  own  tidings.  '  Two  days  ago  I 
found,  by  accident,  in  a  church  at  Bristol,  the  death 
certificate  of  the — of  the  child.' 

'  Julia  Soane  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'  But  then — who  am  I  ?  '  she  asked,  her  eyes  growing 
wild:  the  world  was  turning,  turning  with  her. 

'Her  husband,'  he  answered,  nodding  towards  Mrs. 
Masterson,  '  adopted  a  child  in  place  of  the  dead  one, 
and  said  nothing.  Whether  he  intended  to  pass  it  off  for 
the  child  entrusted  to  him,  I  don't  know.     He  never 


•d36  THE  CASTLE  INN 

made  any  attempt  to  do  so.  Perliaps,'  the  lawyer  con- 
tinued drearily,  '  he  had  it  in  his  mind,  and  when  the 
time  came  his  heart  failed  him.' 

'  And  I  am  that  child  ?  ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  looked  away  guiltily,  passing  his  tongue 
over  his  lips.     He  was  the  picture  of  shame  and  remorse. 

'  Yes,'  he  said.  '  Your  father  and  mother  were  French. 
He  was  a  teacher  of  French  at  Bristol,  his  wife  French 
from  Canterbury.     No  relations  are  known. ' 

'  My  name  ? '  she  asked,  smiling  piteously. 

'Pare,'  he  said,  spelling  it.  And  he  added,  'They 
call  it  Parry.' 

She  looked  round  the  room  in  a  kind  of  terror,  not  un- 
mixed with  wonder.  To  that  room  they  had  retired  to 
review  their  plans  on  their  first  arrival  at  the  Castle  Inn 
— when  all  smiled  on  them.  Thither  they  had  fled  for 
refuge  after  the  brush  with  Lady  Dunborough  and  the 
rencontre  with  Sir  George.  To  that  room  she  had  be- 
taken herself  in  the  first  flush  and  triumph  of  Sir  George's 
suit;  and  there,  surrounded  by  the  same  objects  on  which 
she  now  gazed,  she  had  sat,  rapt  in  rosy  visions,  through 
the  livelong  day  preceding  her  abduction.  Then  she  had 
been  a  gentlewoman,  an  heiress,  the  bride  in  prospect  of 
a  gallant  gentleriian.     Now  ? 

What  wonder  that,  as  she  looked  round  in  dumb  misery, 
recognising  these  things,  her  eyes  grew  wild  again;  or 
that  the  shrinking  lawyer  expected  an  outburst.  It  came, 
but  from  another  quarter.  The  old  woman  rose  and 
trembling  pointed  a  palsied  finger  at  him.  '  Yo'  eat 
your  words  ! '  she  said.  '  Yo'  eat  your  words  and  seem 
to  like  them.  But  didn't  yo'  tell  me  no  farther  back 
than  this  day  five  weeks  that  the  law  was  clear  ?  Didn't 
yo'  tell  me  it  was  certain  ?     Yo'  tell  me  that  ! ' 

'I  did!  God  forgive  me,'  Mr.  Fishwick  murmured 
from  the  depths  of  his  abasement. 


BAD  NEWS  337 

'  Didn't  yo'  tell  me  fifty  times,  and  fifty  times  to  that, 
that  the  case  was  clear  ?  '  the  old  woman  continued  relent- 
lessly. '  That  there  were  thousands  and  thousands  to  be 
had  for  the  asking  ?  And  her  right  besides,  that  no  one 
could  cheat  her  of,  no  more  than  me  of  the  things  my 
man  left  me  ?  ' 

'  I  did,  God  forgive  me  ! '  the  lawyer  said. 

'  But  yo'  did  cheat  me  ! '  she  continued  with  quavering 
insistence,  her  withered  face  faintly  pink.  '  Where  is  the 
home  yo'  ha'  broken  up  ?  Where  are  the  things  my  man 
left  me  ?  Where's  the  bit  that  should  ha'  kept  me  from 
the  parish  ?  Where's  the  fifty-two  pounds  yo'  sold  all 
for  and  ha'  spent  on  us,  living  where's  no  place  for  us, 
at  our  betters'  table  ?  Yo'  ha'  broken  my  heart  !  Yo' 
ha'  laid  up  sorrow  and  suffering  for  the  girl  that  is  dearer 
to  me  than  my  heart.  Yo'  ha'  done  all  that,  and  yo'  can 
come  to  me  smoothly,  and  tell  me  yo'  ha'  made  a  mistake. 
Yo'  are  a  rogue,  and,  what  maybe  is  worse,  I  mistrust 
me  yo'  are  a  fool  ! ' 

'  Mother  !  mother  ! '  the  girl  cried. 

'  He  is  a  fool  ! '  the  old  woman  repeated,  eyeing  him 
with  a  dreadful  sternness.  '  Or  he  would  ha'  kept  his 
mistake  to  himself.  Who  knows  of  it  ?  Or  why  should 
he  be  telling  them  ?  'Tis  for  them  to  find  out,  not  for 
him  !  Yo'  call  yourself  a  lawyer  ?  Yo'  are  a  fool  ! ' 
And  she  sat  down  in  a  palsy  of  senile  passion.  '  Yo' 
are  a  fool  !     And  yo'  ha'  ruined  us  ! ' 

Mr,  Fishwick  groaned,  but  made  no  reply.  He  had 
not  the  spirit  to  defend  himself.  But  Julia,  as  if  all 
through  which  she  had  gone  since  the  day  of  her  reputed 
father's  death  had  led  her  to  this  point,  only  that  she 
might  show  the  stuff  of  which  she  was  wrought,  rose  to 
the  emergency. 

*  j\Iother,'  she  said  firmly,  her  hand  resting  on  the  older 
woman's  shoulder,  '  you  are  wrong — you  are  quite  wrong. 
23 


338  THE  CASTLE  INN 

He  would  have  ruiued  us  indeed,  he  would  have  ruined 
us  hopelessly  and  for  ever,  if  he  had  kept  silence  !  He 
has  never  been  so  good  a  friend  to  us  as  he  has  shown 
himself  to-day,  and  I  thank  him  for  his  courage.  And  I 
honour  him  ! '  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Mr.  Fishwick, 
who  having  pressed  it,  his  face  working  ominously,  retired 
to  the  window. 

'But,  my  deary,  what  will  yo'  do?'  Mrs.  Masterson 
cried  peevishly.     '  He  ha'  ruined  us  ! ' 

'  What  I  should  have  done  if  we  had  never  made  this 
mistake,'  Julia  answered  bravely;  though  her  lips  trem- 
bled and  her  face  was  white,  and  in  her  heart  she  knew 
that  hers  was  but  a  mockery  of  courage,  that  must  fail 
her  the  moment  she  was  alone.  '  We  are  but  fifty  pounds 
worse  than  we  were.' 

'  Fifty  pounds  ! '  the  old  woman  cried  aghast.  '  Yo' 
talk  easily  of  fifty  pounds.  And,  Lord  knows,  it  is  soon 
spent  here.     But  where  will  yo'  get  another  ?  ' 

'  Well,  well,'  the  girl  answered  patiently,  'that  is  true. 
Yet  we  must  make  the  best  of  it.  Let  us  make  the  best 
of  it,'  she  continued,  appealing  to  them  bravely,  yet  with 
tears  in  her  voice.  '  We  are  all  losers  together.  Let  us 
bear  it  together.  I  have  lost  most,'  she  continued,  her 
voice  trembling.  Fifty  pounds?  Oh,  God  !  what  was 
fifty  pounds  to  what  she  had  lost.  '  But  perhaps  I  de- 
serve it.  I  was  too  ready  to  leave  you,  mother.  I  was 
too  ready  to — to  take  up  with  new  things  and — and 
richer  things,  and  forget  those  who  had  been  kin  to  me 
and  kind  to  me  all  my  life.  Perhaps  this  is  my  punish- 
ment. You  have  lost  your  all,  but  that  we  will  get  again. 
And  our  friend  here — he,  too,  has  lost.' 

Mr.  Fishwick,  standing,  dogged  and  downcast,  by  the 
window,  did  not  say  what  he  had  lost,  but  his  thoughts 
went  to  his  old  mother  at  Wallingford  and  the  empty 
stocking,  and  the  weekly  letters  he  had  sent  her  for  a 


BAD  NEWS  339 

month  past,  letters  full  of  his  golden  prospects,  and  the 
great  case  of  Soaue  v.  Soane,  and  the  grand  things  that 
were  to  come  of  it.  What  a  home-coming  was  now  in 
store  for  him,  his  last  guinea  spent,  his  hopes  wrecked, 
and  Wallingford  to  be  faced  ! 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Mrs.  Masterson  sobbed 
querulously,  or  now  and  again  uttered  a  wailing  com- 
plaint: the  other  two  stood  sunk  in  bitter  retrospect. 
Presently,  '  What  must  we  do  ? '  Julia  asked  in  a  faint 
voice.  '  I  mean,  what  step  must  we  take  ?  Will  you  let 
them  know  ? ' 

'I  will  see  them,'  Mr,  Fish  wick  answered,  wincing  at 
the  note  of  pain  in  her  voice.  '  I — I  was  sent  for  this 
morning,  for  twelve  o'clock.  It  is  a  quarter  to  eleven 
now.' 

She  looked  at  him,  startled,  a  spot  of  red  in  each  cheek. 
'We  must  go  away,'  she  said  hurriedly,  'while  we  have 
money.     Can  we  do  better  than  return  to  Oxford  ?  ' 

The  attorney  felt  sure  that  at  the  worst  Sir  George 
would  do  something  for  her:  that  Mrs.  Masterson  need 
not  lament  for  her  fifty  pounds.  But  he  had  the  delicacy 
to  ignore  this.  '  I  don't  know,' he  said  mournfully.  'I 
dare  not  advise.  You'd  be  sorry.  Miss  Julia — any  one 
would  be  sorry  who  knew  what  I  have  gone  through. 
I've  suffered — I  can't  tell  you  what  I  have  suffered — 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  !  I  shall  never  have  any 
opinion  of  myself  again.     Never  ! ' 

Julia  sighed.  '  We  must  cut  a  month  out  of  our  lives,' 
she  murmured.  But  it  was  something  else  she  meant — 
a  month  out  of  her  heart  ! 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

DOEMITAT    HOMERUS 

If  Julia's  return  iu  the  middle  of  the  night  balked  the 
curiosity  of  some  who  would  fain  have  had  her  set  down 
at  the  door  that  they  might  enjoy  her  confusion  as  she 
passed  through  the  portico,  it  had  the  advantage,  ap])re- 
ciated  by  others,  of  leaving  room  for  conjecture.  Before 
breakfast  her  return  was  known  from  one  end  of  the 
Castle  Inn  to  the  other;  within  half  an  hour  a  score  had 
private  information.  Sir  George  had  brought  her  back, 
after  marrying  her  at  Salisbury,  The  attorney  had 
brought  her  back,  and  both  were  in  custody,  charged 
with  stealing  Sir  George's  title-deeds.  Mr.  Thomasson 
had  brought  her  back;  he  had  wedded  her  at  Calne,  the 
reverend  gentleman  himself  performing  the  ceremony 
with  a  curtain-ring  at  a  quarter  before  midnight,  in  the 
presence  of  two  chambermaids,  in  a  room  hung  with 
drab  moreen.  Sir  George's  servant  had  brought  her 
back;  he  was  the  rogue  in  the  play;  it  was  Lady  Harriet 
Wentworth  and  footman  Sturgeon  over  again.  She  had 
come  back  in  a  Flemish  hat  and  a  white  cloth  Joseph 
with  black  facings;  she  had  come  back  in  her  night-rail; 
she  had  come  back  in  a  tabby  gauze,  with  a  lace  head 
and  lappets.  Nor  were  there  wanting  other  rumours, 
of  an  after-dinner  Wilkes-and-Lord- Sandwich  flavour, 
which  we  refrain  from  detailing;  but  which  the  Castle 
Inn,  after  the  mode  of  the  eighteenth  century,  discussed 
with  freedom  in  a  mixed  company. 


DORMITAT  HOMERUS  341 

Of  all  these  reports  and  the  excitement  which  they 
created  iu  an  assemblage  weary  of  waiting  on  the  great 
man's  recovery  and  in  straits  for  entertainment,  the 
attorney  knew  nothing  until  he  set  forth  to  keep  the 
appointment  in  Lord  Chatham's  apartments ;  which, 
long  the  object  of  desire,  now  set  his  teeth  on  edge.  Nor 
need  he  have  learned  much  of  them  then;  for  he  had 
only  to  cross  the  lobby  of  the  east  wing,  and  was  in  view 
of  the  hall  barely  three  seconds.  But,  unluckily,  Lady 
Dunborough,  cackling  shrewishly  with  a  kindred  dow- 
ager, caught  sight  of  him  as  he  passed;  and  in  a  trice 
her  old  limbs  bore  her  in  pursuit.  Mr.  Fishwick  heard 
his  name  called,  had  the  weakness  to  turn,  and  too  late 
found  that  he  had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  his  ancient 
enemy. 

The  absence  of  her  son's  name  from  the  current  ru- 
mours had  relieved  the  Viscountess  of  her  worst  fears, 
and  left  her  free  to  enjoy  herself.  Seeing  his  dismay, 
'  La,  man  !  I  am  not  going  to  eat  you  ! '  she  cried ;  for 
the  lawyer,  nervous  and  profoundly  dispirited,  really 
shrank  before  her.  '  So  you  have  brought  back  your  fine 
madam,  I  hear  ?     And  made  an  honest  woman  of  her  ! ' 

Mr.  Fishwick  glared  at  her,  but  did  not  answer. 

'  I  knew  what  would  come  of  pushing  out  of  your  place, 
my  lad  ! '  she  continued,  nodding  complacently.  '  It 
wasn't  likely  she'd  behave  herself.  When  the  master 
is  away  the  man  will  play,  and  the  maid  too.  I  mind 
me  perfectly  of  the  groom.  A  saucy  fellow  and  a  match 
for  her;  'tis  to  be  hoped  he'll  beat  some  sense  into  her. 
Was  she  tied  up  at  Calne  ?  ' 

'  No! '  Mr.  Fishwick  blurted,  wincing  under  her  words; 
which  hurt  him  a  hundred  times  more  sharply  than  if  the 
girl  had  been  what  he  had  thought  her.  Then  he  might 
have  laughed  at  the  sneer  and  the  spite  that  dictated  it. 
Now — something  like  this  all  the  world  would  say. 


342  THE   CASTLE  INN 

The  Viscountess  eyed  him  cunningly,  her  head  on  one 
side.  '  Was  it  at  Salisbuiy,  then  ?  '  she  cried.  '  Wher- 
ever 'twas,  I  hear  she  had  need  of  haste.  Or  Avas  it  at 
Bristol?  D'you  hear  me  speak  to  you,  man? ''she  con- 
tinued impatiently.     '  Out  with  it.' 

'At  neither,'  he  cried. 

My  lady's  eyes  sparkled  with  rage.  '  Hoity-toity  ! ' 
she  answered.  '  D'you  say  No  to  me  in  that  fashion  ? 
I'll  thank  you  to  mend  your  manners,  Fishwick,  and 
remember  to  whom  you  are  speaking.  Hark  ye,  sirrah, 
is  she  Sir  George's  cousin  or  is  she  not  ? ' 

'  She  is  not,  my  lady, '  the  attorney  muttered  miser- 
ably. 

'  But  she  is  married  ?  ' 

'No,'  he  said;  and  with  that,  unable  to  bear  more, 
he  turned  to  fly. 

She  caught  him  by  the  sleeve.  '  Not  married  ?  '  she 
cried,  grinning  with  ill-natured  glee.  '  Not  married  ? 
And  been  off  three  days  with  a  man  !  Lord,  'tis  a  story 
as  bald  as  Clranby  !  She  ought  to  be  whipped,  the  hussy  ! 
Do  you  hear  ?  She  ought  to  the  Koundhouse,  and  you 
with  her,  sirrah,  for  passing  her  off  on  us  ! ' 

But  that  was  more  than  the  attorney,  his  awe  of  the 
peerage  notwithstanding,  could  put  up  with.  '  God 
forgive  you  ! '  he  cried.  '  God  forgive  you,  ma'am,  your 
hard  heart  ! ' 

She  was  astonished.  '  You  impudent  fellow  ! '  she 
exclaimed.  '  What  do  you  know  of  God  ?  And  how 
dare  you  name  Him  in  the  same  breath  with  me  ?  D'you 
think  He'd  have  people  of  quality  be  Methodists  and 
live  as  the  like  of  you  ?  God,  indeed  !  Hang  your  im- 
pudence !  I  say,  she  should  to  the  Roundhouse — and 
you,  too,  for  a  vagabond  !     And  so  you  shall  ! ' 

The  lawyer  shook  with  rage.  '  The  less  your  ladyship 
talks  of  the  Roundhouse,'  he  answered,  his  voice  trem- 


D0R3IITAT  II03IERUS  343 

bling,  *  the  better  !  There's  one  is  in  it  now  who  may 
go  farther  and  fare  worse — to  your  sorrow,  my  lady  ! ' 

'  You  rogue  ! '  she  cried.     '  Do  you  threaten  me  ?  ' 

'I  threaten  no  one,'  he  answered.  'But  your  son, 
Mr.  Dunborough,  killed  a  man  last  night,  and  lies  in 
custody  at  Chippenham  at  this  very  time  !  I  say  no 
more,  my  lady  ! ' 

He  had  said  enough.  My  lady  glared  ;  then  began  to 
shake  in  her  turn.  Yet  her  spirit  was  not  easily 
quelled  ;  '  You  lie  ! '  she  cried  shrilly,  the  stick,  with 
which  she  vainly  strove  to  steady  herself,  rattling  on 
the  floor.  '  AVho  dares  to  say  that  my  son  has  killed  a 
man  ?  ' 

'  It  is  known,'  the  attorney  answered. 

'  Who— who  is  it  ?  ' 

'  Mr.  Pomeroy  of  Bastwick,  a  gentleman  living  near 
Calne.' 

'  In  a  duel  !  'Twas  in  a  duel,  you  lying  fool  ! '  she 
retorted  hoarsely.  '  You  are  trying  to  scare  me  !  Say 
'twas  in  a  duel  and  I — I'll  forgive  you.' 

'  They  shut  themselves  uj)  in  a  room,  and  there  were 
no  seconds,'  the  lawyer  answered,  beginning  to  pity  her. 
'  I  believe  that  Mr.  Pomeroy  gave  the  provpcation,  and 
that  inay  bring  your  ladyship's  son  off.  But,  on  the 
other  hand ' 

'  On  the  other  hand,  what?     What?  '  she  muttered. 

'Mr.  Dunborough  had  horse whip2:)ed  a  man  that  was 
in  the  other's  company.' 

'  A  man  ?  ' 

'It  was  Mr.  Thomasson.' 

Her  ladyship's  hands  went  up.  Perhaps  she  remem- 
bered that  but  for  her  the  tutor  would  not  have  been 
there.  Then  '  Sink  you  !  I  wish  he  had  flogged  you 
all  ! '  she  shrieked,  and,  turning  stiffly,  she  went  mum- 
bling and  cursing  down  the  stairs,  the  lace  lappets  of  her 


344  THE  CASTLE  INN 

head  trembling,  and  her  gokl -headed  cane  now  thumping 
the  floor,  now  Avaving  uncertainly  in  the  air. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier,  in  the  apartments  for 
which  Mr.  Fishwick  was  bound  when  her  ladyshi])  inter- 
cepted him,  two  men  stood  talking  at  a  window.  The 
room  was  the  best  in  the  Castle  Inn — a  lofty  panelled 
chamber  with  a  southern  aspect  looking  upon  the  smooth 
sward  and  sweet-briar  hedges  of  Lady  Hertford's  ter- 
race, and  commanding  beyond  these  a  distant  view  of  the 
wooded  slopes  of  Savernake.  The  men  spoke  in  sub- 
dued tones,  and  more  than  once  looked  towards  the  door 
of  an  adjacent  room,  as  if  they  feared  to  disturb  some 
one. 

'  My  dear  Sir  George,'  the  elder  said,  after  he  had  lis- 
tened patiently  to  a  lengthy  relation,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  took  snuff  a  dozen  times,  '  your  mind  is  quite 
made  up,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

'Absolutely.' 

'  Well,  it  is  a  remarkable  series  of  events  ;  a — most 
remarkable  series,'  Dr.  Addington  answered  with  pro- 
fessional gravity.  '  And  certainly,  if  the  lady  is  all  you 
paint  her — and  she  seems  to  set  you  young  bloods  on 
fire — no  ending  could  well  be  more  satisfactory.  With 
the  addition  of  a  comfortable  place  in  the  Stamps  or  the 
Pipe  Office,  if  we  can  take  his  lordship  the  right  way — 
it  should  do.  It  should  do  handsomely.  But,'  with  a 
keen  glance  at  his  companion,  '  even  without  that — you 
know  that  he  is  still  far  from  well  ?  ' 

'  I  know  that  all  the  world  is  of  one  of  two  opinions,' 
Sir  George  answered,  smiling.  '  The  first,  that  his  lord- 
ship ails  nothing  save  politically;  the  other,  that  he  is  at 
death's  door  and  will  not  have  it  known.' 

The  physician  shrugged  his  shoulders  contemptuously. 
'Neither  is  true,'  he  said.      'The  simple  fact  is,  he  has 


DORMITAT  EOMERUS  345 

the  gout ;  and  the  gout  is  an  odd  thing,  Sir  George,  as 
you'll  know  one  of  these  days,'  with  another  sharp  glance 
at  his  comj)anion.  '  It  flies  here  and  there,  and  every- 
where.' 

'  And  where  is  it  now  ?  '  Soane  asked  innocently. 

'It  has  gone  to  his  head,'  Addington  answered,  in  a 
tone  so  studiously  jejune  that  Sir  George  glanced  at  him. 
The  doctor,  however,  appeared  unaware  of  the  look,  and 
merely  continued  :  '  So,  if  he  does  not  take  things  quite 
as  you  wish.  Sir  George,  you'll — hut  here  his  lordship 
comes  ! ' 

The  doctor  thought  that  he  had  sufficiently  jirepared 
Soane  for  a  change  in  his  patron's  appearance.  Never- 
theless, the  younger  man  was  greatly  shocked  when 
through  the  door,  obsequiously  opened — and  held  open 
while  a  man  might  count  fifty,  so  that  eye  and  mind  grew 
expectant — the  great  statesman,  the  People's  Minister  at 
length  appeared.  For  the  stooping  figure  that  moved 
to  a  chair  only  by  virtue  of  a  servant's  arm,  and  seemed 
the  taller  for  its  feebleness,  for  dragging  legs  and  shrunken 
frame  and  features  sharpened  by  illness  and  darkened  by 
the  great  peruke  it  was  the  Earl's  fashion  to  wear,  he 
was  in  a  degree  j^repared.  But  for  the  languid  expres- 
sion of  the  face  that  had  been  so  eloquent,  for  the  lack- 
lustre eyes  and  the  dulness  of  mind  that  noticed  little 
and  heeded  less,  he  was  not  prepared  ;  and  these  were  so 
marked  and  so  unlike  the  great  minister — 

*  A  daring  pilot  in  extremity 
Pleased  witli  tlie  danger  when  the  waves  went  high' 

— so  unlike  the  man  whose  eagle  gaze  had  fluttered 
Courts  and  imposed  the  law  on  Senates,  that  it  was  only 
the  presence  of  Lady  Chatham,  who  followed  her  lord,  a 
book  and  cushion  in  her  hands,  that  repressed  the  ex- 
clamation which  rose  to  Sir  George's  lips.     So  complete 


346  THE  CASTLE  INN 

was  the  change  indeed  that,  as  far  as  the  Earl  was  con- 
cerned, he  might  have  uttered  it  !  His  lordshi]!,  led  to 
the  head  of  the  table,  sank  without  a  word  into  the  chair 
placed  for  him,  and  propping  his  elbow  on  the  table  and 
his  bead  on  his  hand,  groaned  aloud. 

Lady  Chatham  compressed  her  lips  Mdth  evident  an- 
noyance as  she  took  her  stand  behind  her  husband's 
chair;  it  was  plain  from  the  glance  she  cast  at  Soane  that 
she  resented  the  presence  of  a  witness.  Even  Dr.  Ad- 
dington,  with  liis  professional  Hawj-froid  and  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  invalid's  actual  state,  Avas  put  out  of  coun- 
tenance for  a  moment.  Then  he  signed  to  Sir  George 
to  be  silent,  and  to  the  servant  to  withdraw. 

At  last  Lord  Chatham  spoke.  '  This  business  ? '  he 
said  in  a  hollow  voice  and  without  uncovering  his  eyes, 
'  is  it  to  be  settled  now  ? ' 

'If  your  lordship  pleases,'  the  doctor  answered  in  a 
subdued  tone. 

'  Sir  George  Soane  is  there  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'Sir  George,'  the  Earl  said  with  an  evident  efEort,  'I 
am  sorry  I  cannot  receive  you  better.' 

'  My  lord,  as  it  is  I  am  deeply  indebted  to  your  kind- 
ness.' 

'  Dagge  finds  no  flaw  in  their  case,'  Lord  Chatham  con- 
tinued apathetically.  '  Her  ladyship  has  read  his  report 
to  me.  If  Sir  George  likes  to  contest  the  claim,  it  is  his 
right.' 

'  I  do  not  propose  to  do  so.' 

Sir  George  had  not  this  time  subdued  his  voice  to  the 
doctor's  pitch;  and  the  Earl,  whose  nerves  seemed  alive 
to  the  slightest  sound,  winced  visibly.  '  That  is  your 
affair,'  he  answered  querulously.  '  At  any  rate  the  trus- 
tees do  not  propose  to  do  so.' 

Sir  George,  speaking  with  more  caution,  replied  that 


DO  EMIT  AT  HOMERUS  347 

he  accjuiesced  ;  and  then  for  a  few  seconds  there  was 
silence  in  the  room,  his  lordship  continuing  to  sit  in  the 
same  attitude  of  profound  melancholy,  and  the  others  to 
look  at  him  with  compassion,  which  they  vainly  strove 
to  dissemble.  At  last,  in  a  voice  little  above  a  whisper, 
the  Earl  asked  if  the  man  was  there. 

'  He  waits  your  lordship's  pleasure,'  Dr.  Addington 
answered.  'But  before  he  is  admitted,'  the  physician 
continued  diffidently  and  with  a  manifest  efEort,  '  may 
I  say  a  word,  my  lord,  as  to  the  j^osition  in  which  this 
places  Sir  George  Soane  ?  ' 

'  I  was  told  this  morning,'  Lord  Chatham  answered,  in 
the  same  muffled  tone,  '  that  a  match  had  been  arranged 
between  the  parties,  and  that  things  would  remain  as 
they  were.  It  seemed  to  me,  sir,  a  prudent  arrange- 
ment.' 

Sir  George  was  about  to  answer,  but  Dr.  Addington 
made  a  sign  to  him  to  be  silent.  '  That  is  so,'  the  phy- 
sician replied  smoothly.  '  But  your  lordship  is  versed  in 
Sir  George  Soane's  affairs,  and  knows  that  he  must 
now  go  to  his  wife  almost  empty-handed.  In  these  cir- 
cumstances it  has  occurred  rather  to  his  friends  than  to 
himself,  and  indeed  I  speak  against  his  will  and  by  suffer- 
ance only,  that — that,  in  a  word,  my  lord ' 

Lord  Chatham  lowered  his  hand  as  Dr.  Addington 
paused.  A  faint  flush  darkened  his  lean  aquiline  fea- 
tures, set  a  moment  before  in  the  mould  of  hoi^eless 
depression.  'What?'  he  said.  And  he  raised  himself 
sharply  in  his  chair.    '  What  has  occurred  to  his  friends  ?  ' 

'  That  some  provision  might  be  made  for  him,  my 
lord.' 

'  From  the  public  purse  ?'  the  Earl  cried  in  a  startling 
tone.  '  Is  that  your  meaning,  sir  ?  '  And,  with  the  look 
in  his  eyes  which  had  been  more  dreaded  by  the  Eigbys 
and   Dodingtons  of  his  party  than  the   most   scathing 


348  THE  CASTLE  INN 

rebuke  from  the  lips  of  another,  he  fixed  the  unlucky 
doctor  where  he  stood.  'Is  that  3'our  jiroposal,  sir?' 
he  repeated. 

The  physician  saw  too  late  that  he  had  ventured  far- 
ther than  his  interest  would  support  him;  and  he  quailed. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  is  possible  he  had  been  neither 
so  confident  before,  nor  was  so  entirely  crushed  now,  as 
appeared.  'Well,  my  lord,  it  did  occur  to  me,'  he 
stammered,  '  as  not  inconsistent  with  the  public  welfare.' 

'The  public  welfare!'  the  minister  cried  in  biting 
accents.  '  The  pablic  plunder,  sir,  you  mean  !  It  were 
not  inconsistent  with  that  to  quarter  on  the  nation  as 
many  ruined  gentlemen  as  you  please  !  But  you  mistake 
if  you  bring  the  business  to  me  to  do — you  mistake.  I 
have  dispersed  thirteen  millions  of  His  Majesty's  money 
in  a  year,  and  would  have  spent  as  much  again  and  as 
much  to  that,  had  the  affairs  of  this  nation  required  it; 
but  tiie  gentleman  is  wrong  if  he  thinks  it  has  gone  to 
my  friends.  My  hands  are  clean,'  his  lordship  contin- 
ued with  an  expressive  gesture.  '  I  have  said,  in  another 
I)lace,  none  of  it  sticks  to  them.  Virtute  me  involvo  I ' 
And  then,  in  a  lower  tone,  but  still  with  a  note  of  aus- 
terity in  his  voice,  'I  rejoice  to  think,'  he  continued, 
'  that  the  gentleman  was  not  himself  the  author  of  this 
application.  I  rejoice  to  think  that  it  did  not  come  from 
him.  These  things  have  been  done  freely;  it  concerns 
me  not  to  deny  it;  but  since  I  had  to  do  Avith  His  Ma- 
jesty's exchequer,  less  freely.     And  that  only  concerns 


me 


t ' 


Sir  George  Soane  bit  his  lip.  He  felt  keenly  the 
humiliation  of  his  position.  But  it  was  so  evident  that 
the  Earl  was  not  himself — so  evident  that  the  tirade  to 
which  he  had  just  listened  was  one  of  those  outbursts, 
noble  in  sentiment,  but  verging  on  the  impracticable  and 
the  ostentatious,  in  which  Lord  Chatham  was  prone  to 


DORJdITAT  HOME  BUS  349 

iudulge  iu  his  weaker  moments,  that  he  felt  little  incli- 
nation to  resent  it.  Yet  to  let  it  pass  unnoticed  was 
impossible. 

'My  lord/  he  said  firmly,  but  with  respect,  'it  is 
permitted  to  all  to  make  an  application  which  the  cus- 
tom of  the  time  has  sanctioned.  That  is  the  extent  of 
my  action — at  the  highest.  The  propriety  of  granting 
such  requests  is  another  matter  and  rests  with  your 
lordship.     I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.' 

The  Earl  appeared  to  be  as  easily  disarmed  as  he  had 
been  lightly  aroused.  '  Good  lad  !  good  lad  ! '  he  mut- 
tered. '  Addington  is  a  fool  ! '  Then  drowsily,  as  his 
head  sunk  on  his  hand  again,  '  The  man  may  enter.  I 
will  tell  him!' 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE    ATTOKXEY   SPEAKS 

It  was  into  an  atmosphere  highly  charged,  therefore,  in 
which  the  lightning  had  scarcely  ceased  to  play,  and 
might  at  any  moment  dart  its  fires  anew,  that  Mr.  Fish- 
wick  was  introduced.  The  lawyer  did  not  know  this; 
yet  it  was  to  be  expected  that  without  that  knowledge  he 
would  bear  himself  but  ill  in  the  company  in  which  he 
now  found  himself.  But  the  task  which  he  had  come 
to  perform  raised  him  above  himself;  moreover,  there  is 
a  point  of  depression  at  which  timidity  ceases,  and  he 
had  reached  this  point.  Admitted  by  Dr.  Addington, 
he  looked  round,  bowed  stiffly  to  the  physician,  and  lowly 
and  with  humility  to  Lord  Chatham  and  her  ladyship; 
then,  taking  his  stand  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  he  pro- 
duced his  papers  with  an  air  of  modest  self-possession. 

Lord  Chatham  did  not  look  up,  but  he  saw  what  was 
passing.  'We  have  no  need  of  documents,'  he  said  in 
the  frigid  tone  which  marked  his  dealings  with  all  save  a 
very  few.  '  Your  client's  suit  is  allowed,  sir,  so  far  as  the 
trustees  are  concerned.     That  is  all  it  boots  me  to  say.' 

'  I  humbly  thank  your  lordship,'  the  attorney  answered, 
speaking  with  an  air  of  propriety  which  surprised  Sir 
George.  '  Yet  I  have  with  due  submission  to  crave  your 
lordship's  leave  to  say  somewhat.' 

'There  is  no  need,'  the  Earl  answered,  'the  claim 
being  allowed,  sir.' 

'  It  is  on  that  point,  my  lord.' 


THE  ATTORNEY  SPEAKS  351 

The  Earl,  his  eyes  smouldering,  looked  his  displeas- 
ure, but  controlled  himself.  '  What  is  it  ?  '  he  said 
irritably. 

'  Some  days  ago,  I  made  a  singular  discovery,  my 
lord,'  the  attorney  answered  sorrowfully.  'I  felt  it 
necessary  to  communicate  it  to  my  client,  and  I  am  di- 
rected by  her  to  convey  it  to  your  lordship  and  to  all 
others  concerned.'  And  the  lawyer  bowed  slightly  to 
Sir  George  Soane. 

Lord  Chatham  raised  his  head,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  the  attorney's  entrance  looked  at  him  with  a  pee- 
vish attention.  '  If  we  are  to  go  into  this,  Dagge  should 
be  here,'  he  said  impatiently.  'Or  your  lawyer,  Sir 
George,'  with  a  look  as  fretful  in  that  direction.  "  Well, 
man,  what  is  it  ?  ' 

'My  lord,'  Mr.  Fishwick  answered,  'I  desire  first  to 
impress  upon  your  lordship  and  Sir  George  Soane  that 
this  claim  was  set  on  foot  in  good  faith  on  the  part  of  my 
client,  and  on  my  part;  and,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
with  no  desire  to  promote  useless  litigation.  That  was 
the  position  up  to  Tuesday  last,  the  day  on  which  the 
lady  was  forcibly  carried  olf.  I  repeat,  my  lord,  that  on 
that  day  I  had  no  more  doubt  of  the  justice  of  our  claim 
than  I  have  to-day  that  the  sky  is  above  us.  But  on 
Wednesday  I  happened  in  a  strange  way — at  Bristol,  my 
lord,  whither  but  for  that  abduction  I  might  never  have 
gone  in  my  life — on  a  discovery,  which  by  my  client's 
direction  I  am  here  to  communicate.' 

'  Do  you  mean,  sir,'  the  Earl  said  with  sudden  acu- 
men, a  note  of  keen  surprise  in  his  voice,  '  that  you  are 
here — to  abandon  your  claim  ?  ' 

'My  client's  claim,'  the  attorney  answered  with  a 
sorrowful  look.     '  Yes,  my  lord,  I  am.' 

For  an  instant  there  was  profound  silence  in  the  room; 
the  astonishment  was  as  deep  as  it  was  general.      At 


353  TEE  CASTLE  INN 

last,  'are  the  papers  which  were  submitted  to  Mr. 
Dagge — are  they  forgeries  then  ? '  the  Earl  asked. 

'No,  my  lord;  the  papers  are  genuine,'  the  attorney 
answered.  '  But  my  client,  although  the  identification 
seemed  to  be  complete,  is  not  the  person  indicated  in 
them.'  And  succinctly,  but  with  sufficient  clearness, 
the  attorney  narrated  his  chance  visit  to  the  church,  the 
discovery  of  the  entry  in  the  register,  and  the  story  told 
by  the  good  woman  at  the  'Golden  Bee.'  'Your  lord- 
ship will  perceive,'  he  concluded,  'that,  apart  from  the 
exchange  of  the  children,  the  claim  Avas  good.  The 
identification  of  the  infant  whom  the  porter  presented  to 
his  wife  with  the  child  handed  to  him  by  his  late  master 
three  weeks  earlier  seemed  to  be  placed  beyond  doubt  by 
every  argument  from  probability.  But  the  child  was 
not  the  child,'  he  added  with  a  sigh.  And,  forgetting 
for  the  moment  the  presence  in  which  he  stood,  Mr. 
Fishwick  allowed  the  despondency  he  felt  to  appear  in 
his  face  and  figure. 

There  was  a  prolonged  silence.  '  Sir  !  '  Lord  Chat- 
ham said  at  last — Sir  George  Soane,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
floor  and  a  deep  flush  on  his  face,  seemed  to  be  thunder- 
struck by  this  sudden  change  of  front — '  it  appears  to 
me  that  you  are  a  very  honest  man  !  Yet  let  me  ask  you. 
Did  it  never  occur  to  you  to  conceal  the  fact  ?  ' 

'Frankly,  my  lord,  it  did,'  the  attorney  answered 
gloomily,  '  for  a  day.  Then  I  remembered  a  thing  my 
father  used  to  say  to  us,  "  Don't  put  molasses  in  the 
punch  !  "     And  I  was  afraid.' 

'  Don't  put  molasses  in  the  punch  ! '  his  lordship  ejac- 
ulated, with  a  lively  expression  of  astonishment.  '  Are 
you  mad,  sir  ? ' 

'  No,  my  lord  and  gentlemen, '  Mr.  Fishwick  answered 
hurriedly.  '  But  it  means — don't  help  Providence,  which 
can  very  well  help  itself.     The  thing  was  too  big  for  me. 


THE  ATTORNEY  SPEAKS  353 

my  lord,  and  my  clieut  too  lionest.     I  thought,  if  it  came 
out  afterwards,  the  last  state  might  be  worse  than  the 
first.     And — I  could  not  see  my  way  to  keej)  it  from  her; 
and  that  is  the  truth,'  he  added  candidly. 
The  statesman  nodded.     Then, 

'  Dissimulare  etiam  sperasti,  perfide  fantum 
Posse  nefas,  tacitusque  meam  subducere  terrain  f ' 

he  muttered  in  low  yet  sonorous  tones. 

Mr.  Fish  wick  stared.  '  I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon,' 
he  said.     '  I  do  not  quite  understand.' 

'  There  is  no  need.  And  that  is  the  whole  truth,  sir, 
is  it?' 

'  Yes,  my  lord,  it  is.' 

'Very  good.  Very  good,'  Lord  Chatham  replied, 
pushing  away  the  papers  which  the  attorney  in  the  heat 
of  his  argument  had  thrust  before  him.  '  Then  there  is 
an  end  of  the  matter  as  far  as  the  trustees  are  concerned. 
Sir  George,  you  have  nothing  to  say,  I  take  it  ? ' 

'No,  I  thank  you,  my  lord — nothing  here,'  Soane 
answered  vaguely.  His  face  continued  to  wear  the  dark 
flush  which  had  overspread  it  a  few  minutes  before. 
*  This,  I  need  not  say,  is  an  absolute  surprise  to  me,'  he 
added. 

'  Just  so.  It  is  an  extraordinary  story.  Well,  good- 
morning,  sir,'  his  lordship  continued,  addressing  the 
attorney.  '  I  believe  you  have  done  your  duty.  I  believe 
you  have  behaved  very  honestly.     You  will  hear  from  me.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  knew  that  he  was  dismissed,  but  after  a 
glance  aside,  which  showed  him  Sir  George  standing  in 
a  brown  study,  he  lingered.  '  If  your  lordship,'  he  said 
desperately,  '  could  see  your  way  to  do  anything — for  my 
client  ? ' 

'  For  your  client  ?  Why  ?  '  the  Earl  cried,  with  a  sud- 
den return  of  his  gouty  peevishness.  '  Why,  sir — why  ?  ' 
2;J 


354  THE  CASTLE  INN 

'  She  has  beeu  drawn,'  the  lawyer  muttered,  'out  of 
the  position  in  which  she  lived,  by  an  error,  not  her  own, 
my  lord.' 

'  Yours  ! ' 

'  Yes,  my  lord.' 

'  And  -why  drawn  ?  '  the  Earl  continued  regarding  him 
severely.  '  I  will  tell  you,  sir.  Because  you  were  not 
content  to  await  the  result  of  investigation,  but  must 
needs  thrust  yourself  in  the  public  eye  !  You  must 
needs  assume  a  position  before  it  was  granted  !  No,  sir, 
I  allow  you  honest;  I  allow  you  to  be  well-meaning;  but 
your  conduct  has  been  indiscreet,  and  your  client  must 
pay  for  it.  Moreover,  I  am  in  the  position  of  a  trustee, 
and  can  do  nothing.     You  may  go,  sir.' 

After  that  Mr.  Fishwick  had  no  choice  but  to  with- 
draw. He  did  so;  and  a  moment  later  Sir  George,  after 
paying  his  respects,  followed  him.  Dr.  Addington  was 
clear-sighted  enough  to  fear  that  his  friend  had  gone 
after  the  lawyer,  and,  as  soon  as  he  decently  could,  he 
Avent  himself  in  pursuit.  He  was  relieved  to  find  Sir 
George  alone,  pacing  the  floor  of  the  room  they  shared. 

The  physician  took  care  to  hide  his  real  motive  and  his 
distrust  of  Soane's  discretion  under  a  show  of  hearti- 
ness. '  My  dear  Sir  George,  I  congratulate  you  ! '  he 
cried,  shaking  the  other  effusively  by  the  hand.  '  Be- 
lieve me,  'tis  by  far  the  completest  way  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty ;  and  though  I  am  sorry  for  the — for  the  young 

lady,  who  seems  to  have  behaved  very  honestly well, 

time  brings  its  repentances  as  well  as  its  revenges.  It 
is  possible  the  match  would  have  done  tolerably  well, 
assuming  you  to  be  equal  in  birth  and  fortune.  But 
even  then  'twas  a  risk;  'twas  a  risk,  my  dear  sir  !  And 
now ' 

'  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  I  suppose  ? '  Sir  George 
said;  and  he  looked  at  the  other  interrogatively. 


THE  ATTORNEY  SPEAKS  355 

'Good  Lord,  no  ! '  the  iDhysician  answered.  'No,  no, 
no  ! '  he  added  weightily. 

Sir  George  nodded,  and,  turning,  looked  thoughtfully 
through  the  window.  His  face  still  wore  a  flush.  '  Yet 
— something  must  be  done  for  her,'  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.     'I  can't  let  her — here,  read  that.' 

Dr.  Addington  took  the  open  letter  the  other  handed 
to  him,  and,  eyeing  it  Avith  a  frown  while  he  fixed  his 
glasses,  afterwards  proceeded  to  peruse  it. 

'Sir,'  it  ran — it  was  pitifully  short — 'when  I  sought 
you  I  deemed  myself  other  than  I  am.  Were  I  to  seek 
you  now  I  should  ha  other  than  I  deem  myself.  We  met 
abruptly,  and  can  part  after  the  same  fashion.  This 
from  one  who  claims  to  be  no  more  than  your  well- 
wisher. — Julia.' 

The  doctor  laid  it  down  and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 
'  Good  girl  ! '  he  muttered.  '  Good  girl.  That — that 
confirms  me.  You  must  do  something  for  her.  Sir 
George.     Has  she — how  did  you  get  that,  by  the  way  ?  ' 

'  I  found  it  on  the  table.  I  made  inquiry,  and  heard 
that  she  left  Marlboro'  an  hour  gone.' 

'  For  ? ' 

'  I  could  not  learn.' 

'  Good  girl  !  Good  girl  !  Yes,  certainly  you  must  do 
something  for  her.' 

'  You  think  so  ?  '  Sir  George  said,  with  a  sudden  queer 
look  at  the  doctor.     '  Even  you  ?  ' 

'  Even  I  !  An  allowance  of — I  was  going  to  suggest 
fifty  guineas  a  year,'  Dr.  Addington  continued  impul- 
sively. '  Now,  after  reading  that  letter,  I  say  a  hundred. 
It  is  not  too  much,  Sir  George  !  'Fore  Gad,  it  is  not  too 
much.     But ' 

'  But  what  ?  ' 

The  physician  paused  to  take  an  elaborate  pinch  of 
snuff.      '  You'll  forgive  me,'  he  answered.     '  But  before 


356  THE  CASTLE  INN 

this  about  her  birth  came  out,  I  fancied  that  you  were 
doing,  or  going  about  to  do  the  girl  no  good.  Now, 
my  dear  Sir  George,  I  am  not  strait-laced,'  the  doctor 
continued,  dusting  the  snufE  from  the  lapj^ets  of  his 
coat,  '  and  I  know  very  well  what  your  friend,  my  Lord 
March,  would  do  in  the  circumstances.  And  3'ou  have 
lived  much  with  him,  and  think  yourself,  I  dare  swear, 
uo  better.  But  you  are,  my  dear  sir — you  are,  though 
you  may  not  know  it.  You  are  wondering  what  I  am  at  ? 
Inclined  to  take  offence,  eh  ?  Well,  she's  a  good  girl. 
Sir  George ' — he  tapped  the  letter,  which  lay  on  the 
table  beside  him—'  too  good  for  that  !  And  you'll  not 
lay  it  on  your  conscience,  I  hope.' 

'I  will  not,'  Sir  George  said  quietly. 

'  Good  lad  ! '  Dr.  Addington  muttered,  in  the  tone 
Lord  Chatham  had  used;  for  it  is  hard  to  be  much  with 
the  great  without  trying  on  their  shoes.  '  Good  lad  ! 
Good  lad  ! ' 

Soane  did  not  appear  to  notice  the  tone.  '  You  think 
an  allowance  of  a  hundred  guineas  enough  ? '  he  said, 
and  looked  at  the  other. 

'I  think  it  very  handsome,'  the  doctor  answered. 
'D — d  handsome.' 

'  Good  ! '  Sir  George  rejoined.  '  Then  she  shall  have 
that  allowance  ; '  and  after  staring  awhile  at  the  table 
he  nodded  assent  to  his  thoughts  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

A   HANDSOME   ALLOWANCE 

The  physician  might  not  have  deemed  his  friend  so  sen- 
sible— or  so  insensible — had  he  known  that  the  yonng 
man  proposed  to  make  the  offer  of  that  allowance  in 
person.  Nor  to  Sir  George  Soane  himself,  when  he 
alighted  five  da3's  later  before  The  George  Inn  at  Wal- 
liogford,  did  the  offer  seem  the  light  and  easy  thing, 

'  Of  smiles  and  tears  compact,' 

it  had  appeared  at  Marlborongh.  He  recalled  old  clashes 
of  wit,  and  here  and  there  a  spark  struck  out  between 
them,  that,  alighting  on  the  flesh,  had  burned  him. 
Meanwhile  the  arrival  of  so  fine  a  gentleman,  travelling 
in  a  post-chaise  and  four,  drew  a  crowd  about  the  inn. 
To  give  the  idlers  time  to  disperse,  as  well  as  to  remove 
the  stains  of  the  road,  he  entered  the  house,  and,  having 
bespoken  dinner  and  the  best  rooms,  inquired  the  Avay  to 
Mr.  Fishwick  the  attorney's.  By  this  time  his  servant 
had  blabbed  his  name  ;  and  the  story  of  the  duel  at 
Oxford  being  known,  with  some  faint  savour  of  his  fash- 
ion, the  landlord  was  his  most  obedient,  and  would  fain 
have  guided  his  honour  to  the  place  cap  in  hand. 

Rid  of  him,  and  informed  that  the  house  he  sought 
Avas  neighbour  on  the  farther  side,  of  the  Three  Tuns, 
near  the  bridge,  Sir  George  strolled  down  the  long  clean 
street  that  leads  past  Blackstone's  Church,  then  in  the 
building,  to  the  river;  Sinodun  Hill  and  the  Berkshire 


358  THE  CASTLE  INN 

Downs,  sjieaking  evening  jjeace,  behind  him.  He  paused 
before  a  dozen  neat  houses  with  brass  knockers  and 
painted  shutters,  and  took  each  in  turn  for  the  lawyer's. 
But  when  he  came  to  the  real  Mr.  Fishwick's,  and  found 
it  a  mere  cottage,  white  and  decent,  but  no  more  than  a 
cottage,  he  thought  that  he  was  mistaken.  Then  the 
name  of  'Mr.  Peter  Fishwick,  Attorney-at-Law,'  not  in 
the  glory  of  brass,  but  painted  in  white  letters  on  the 
green  door,  undeceived  him;  and,  opening  the  wicket 
of  the  tiny  garden,  he  knocked  with  the  head  of  his 
cane  on  the  door. 

The  ajipearance  of  a  stately  gentleman  in  a  laced  coat 
and  a  sword,  waiting  outside  Fishwick 's,  opened  half  the 
doors  in  the  street;  but  not  that  one  at  which  Sir  George 
stood.  He  had  to  knock  again  and  again  before  he  heard 
voices  whispering  inside.  At  last  a  step  came  tapping 
down  the  bricked  passage,  a  bolt  was  withdrawn,  and  an 
old  woman,  in  a  coarse  brown  dress  and  a  starched  mob, 
looked  out.  She  betrayed  no  surprise  on  seeing  so  grand 
a  gentleman,  but  told  his  honour,  before  he  could  speak, 
that  the  lawyer  was  not  at  home. 

'It  is  not  Mr.  Fishwick  I  want  to  see,'  Sir  George 
answered  civilly.  Through  the  brick  passage  he  had  a 
glimpse,  as  through  a  funnel,  of  green  leaves  climbing  on 
a  tiny  treillage,  and  of  a  broken  urn  on  a  scrap  of  sward. 
'  You  have  a  young  lady  staying  here  ?  '  he  continued. 

The  old  woman's  stiff  grey  eyebrows  grew  together. 
'  No  !  '  she  said  sharply.     '  Nothing  of  the  kind  !  ' 

'A  Miss  Masterson.' 

'  No  ! '  she  snapped,  her  face  more  and  more  forbid- 
ding. '  We  have  no  Misses  here,  and  no  baggages  for 
fine  gentlemen  !  You  have  come  to  the  wrong  house  ! ' 
And  she  tried  to  shut  the  door  in  his  face. 

He  was  puzzled  and  a  little  affronted;  but  he  set  his 
foot  between  the  door  and   the  post,  and  balked  her. 


A  JIANDS03IE  ALLOWANCE  359 

'  One  moment,  my  good  woman,'  he  said.  '  This  is  Mr. 
Fishwick's,  is  it  not  ?  ' 

'Ay,  'tis,'  she  answered,  breathing  hard  with  indigna- 
tion. 'But  if  it  is  him  your  honour  wants  to  see,  you 
must  come  when  he  is  at  home.  He  is  not  at  home 
to-day.' 

'  I  don't  want  to  see  him,'  Sir  George  said.  '  I  want 
to  speak  to  the  young  lady  who  is  staying  here.' 

'  And  I  tell  you  that  there  is  no  young  lady  staying 
here  ! '  she  retorted  wrathfully.  '  There  is  no  soul  in  the 
house  but  me  and  my  serving  girl,  and  she's  at  the  wash- 
tub.  It  is  more  like  the  Three  Tuns  you  want  !  There's 
a  flaunting  gipsy-girl  there  if  you  like — but  the  less  said 
about  her  the  better.' 

Sir  George  stood  and  stared  at  the  woman.  At  last, 
on  a  sudden  suspicion,  '  Is  your  servant  from  Oxford  ?  ' 
he  said. 

She  seemed  to  consider  him  before  she  answered. 
'  Well,  if  she  is  ?  '  she  said  grudgingly.     '  What  then  ?  ' 

'  Is  her  name  Masterson  ?  ' 

Again  she  seemed  to  hesitate.  At  last,  '  May  be  and 
may  be  not  ! '  she  snapped,  with  a  sniff  of  contempt. 

He  saw  that  it  was,  and  for  an  instant  the  hesitation 
was  on  his  side.  Then,  '  Let  me  come  in  ! '  he  said 
abruptly.  '  You  are  doing  your  son's  client  little  good 
by  this  ! '  And  when  she  had  slowly  and  grudgingly 
made  way  for  him  to  enter,  and  the  door  was  shut  behind 
him,  '  Where  is  she  ?  '  he  asked  almost  savagely.  '  Take 
me  to  her  ! ' 

The  old  dame  muttered  something  unintelligible. 
Then,  'She's  in  the  back  part,'  she  said,  'but  she'll 
not  wish  to  see  you.  Don't  blame  me  if  she  jiins  a 
clout  to  your  skirts.' 

Yet  she  moved  aside,  and  the  way  lay  open — down 
the  brick  passage.      It  must  be  confessed  that  for  an 


360  THE  CASTLE  INN 

instant,  just  one  instant,  Sir  George  wavered,  his  face 
hot;  for  the  third  part  of  a  second  the  dread  of  the  ridic- 
ulous, tlie  temptation  to  turn  and  go  as  he  had  come 
were  on  him.  Nor  need  lie,  for  this,  forfeit  our  sym- 
pathies, or  cease  to  be  a  hero.  It  was  the  age,  be  it 
remembered,  of  the  artificial.  Nature,  swathed  in  per- 
ukes and  ruffles,  powder  and  patches,  and  stifled  under 
a  hundred  studied  airs  and  grimaces,  had  much  ado  to 
breathe.  Yet  it  did  breathe;  and  Sir  George,  after  that 
brief  hesitation,  did  go  on.  Three  steps  carried  him  down 
the  passage.  Another,  and  the  broken  urn  and  tiny 
treillage  brought  him  up  short,  but  on  the  greensward,  in 
the  sunlight,  with  the  air  of  heaven  fanning  his  brow. 
The  garden  was  a  very  duodecimo;  a  single  glance  showed 
him  its  whole  extent — and  Julia. 

She  was  not  at  the  wash-tub,  as  the  old  lady  had  said; 
but  on  her  knees,  scouring  a  step  that  led  to  a  side-door, 
her  drugget  gown  pinned  up  about  her.  She  raised  her 
head  as  he  appeared,  and  met  his  gaze  defiantly,  her  face 
flushing  red  with  shame  or  some  kindred  feeling.  He 
was  struck  by  a  strange  likeness  between  her  hard  look 
and  the  frown  with  which  the  old  woman  at  the  door 
had  received  him ;  and  this,  or  something  in  the  misfit  of 
her  gown,  or  the  glimpse  he  had  of  a  stocking  grotesquely 
fine  in  comparison  of  the  stuff  from  which  it  peeped — or 
perhaps  the  cleanliness  of  the  step  she  was  scouring,  since 
he  seemed  to  see  everything  without  looking  at  it — put 
an  idea  into  his  head.  He  checked  the  exclamation  that 
sprang  to  his  lips;  and  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  he  saluted 
her  with  an  easy  smile.  'I  have  found  you,  child,'  he 
said.     '  Did  you  think  you  had  hidden  yourself?  ' 

She  met  his  gaze  sullenly.  '  You  have  found  me  to  no 
purpose,'  she  said.     Her  tone  matched  her  look. 

The  look  and  the  words  together  awoke  an  odd  pang  in 
his  heart.      He  had  seen  her  arch,  pitiful,  wrathful,  con- 


A   HANDSOME  ALLOWANCE  361 

temptuous,  even  kind  ;  but  never  sullen.  The  new 
mood  gave  him  the  measure  of  her  heart  ;  but  his  tone 
lost  nothing  of  its  airiness.  '  I  hope  not,'  he  said,  'for 
we  think  you  have  behaved  vastly  well  in  the  matter, 
child.  Remarkably  well  !  And  that,  let  me  tell  you,  is 
not  only  my  own  sentiment,  but  the  opinion  of  my 
friends  who  perfectly  approve  of  the  arrangement  I  have 
come  to  propose.  You  may  accept  it,  therefore,  without 
the  least  scruj)le. ' 

'Arrangement?'  she  muttered.  Her  cheeks,  darkly 
red  a  moment  before,  began  to  fade. 

'  Yes,'  he  said.  '  I  hope  you  will  think  it  not  ungen- 
erous. It  will  rid  you  of  the  need  to  do  this — sort  of 
thing,  and  put  you — put  you  in  a  comfortable  position. 
Of  course,  you  know,'  he  continued  in  a  tone  of  patron- 
age, under  which  her  heart  burned  if  her  cheeks  did  not, 
'  that  a  good  deal  of  water  has  run  under  the  bridge 
since  we  talked  in  the  garden  at  Marlborough?  That 
things  are  changed.' 

Her  eyelids  quivered  under  the  cruel  stroke.  But  her 
only  answer  was,  '  They  are. '  Yet  she  wondered  how 
and  why;  for  if  she  had  thought  herself  an  heiress,  he 
had  not — then. 

'  You  admit  it,  I  am  sure  ?  '  he  persisted. 

'  Yes,'  she  answered  resolutely. 

'  And  that  to — to  resume,  in  fact,  the  old  terms  would 
be — impossible.' 

'  Quite  impossible.'  Her  tone  Avas  as  hard  as  his  was 
easy. 

'I  thought  so,'  Sir  George  continued  complacently. 
'  Still,  I  could  not,  of  course,  leave  you  here,  child.  As 
I  have  said,  my  friends  think  that  something  should  be 
done  for  you;  and  I  am  only  too  happy  to  do  it.  I  have 
consulted  them,  and  we  have  talked  the  matter  over. 
By  the  way,'  with  a  look   round,  '  perhajis  your  mother 


362  THE  CASTLE  INN 

should  be  here — Mrs.  Masterson,  I  mean  ?  Is  she  in  the 
house  ? ' 

'  No/  she  answered,  her  face  flaming  scarlet;  for  pride 
had  conquered  pain.  She  hated  him.  Oh,  how  she 
hated  him  and  the  hideous  dress  which  in  her  foolish 
dream — when,  hearing  him  at  the  door,  she  had  looked 
for  something  very  different — she  had  hurriedly  put  on; 
and  the  loose  tangle  of  hair  which  she  had  dragged  with 
trembling  fingers  from  its  club  so  that  it  now  hung  skit- 
tishly over  her  ear.  She  longed,  as  she  had  never  longed 
before,  to  confront  him  in  all  her  beauty;  to  be  able  to 
say  to  him,  '  Choose  where  you  will,  can  you  buy  form  or 
face  like  this?'  Instead  she  stood  before  him,  prisoned 
in  this  shapeless  dress,  a  slattern,  a  drab,  a  thing  whereat 
to  curl  the  lip. 

'Well,  I  am  sorry  she  is  not  here,'  he  resumed.  'It 
would  have  given  a — a  kind  of  legality  to  the  offer,' 
he  continued  with  an  easy  laugh.  '  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
the  amount  was  not  fixed  by  me,  but  by  my  friend.  Dr. 
Addington,  who  interested  himself  in  your  behalf.  He 
thought  that  an  allowance  of  a  hundred  guineas  a 
year,  child,  properly  secured,  would  j^lace  you  in  com- 
fort, and — and  obviate  all  this,'  with  a  negligent  wave 
of  the  hand  that  took  in  the  garden  and  the  half- 
scoured  stone,  'at  the  same  time,'  he  added,  'that  it 
would  not  be  unworthy  of  the  donor.'  And  he  bowed, 
smiling. 

'  A  hundred  guineas  ?  '  she  said  slowly.     '  A  year  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

'  Properly  secured  ?  ' 

'  To  be  sure,  child.' 

'  On  your  word  ?  '  with  a  sudden  glance  at  him.  '  Of 
course,  I  could  not  ask  better  security  !  Surely,  sir, 
there's  but  one  thing  to  be  said.  'Tis  too  generous,  too 
handsome  ! ' 


A   HANDSOME  ALLOWANCE  363 

'  Tut — tut  ! '  he  answered,  wondering  at  her  way  of 
taking  it. 

'  Far  too  handsome — seeing .  that  I  have  no  claim  on 
you.  Sir  George,  and  have  only  put  you  to  great  expense. ' 

'  Pooh  !     Pooh  ! ' 

'  And — trouble.  A  vast  deal  of  trouble,'  she  repeated 
in  an  odd  tone  of  raillery,  while  her  eyes,  grown  hard 
and  mocking,  raked  him  mercilessly.  '  So  much  for  so 
little  !  I  could  not — I  could  not  accept  it.  A  hundred 
guineas  a  year.  Sir  George,  from  one  in  your  jiosition  to 
one  in  mine,  would  only  lay  me  open  to  the  tongue  of 
slander.     You  had  better  say — fifty.' 

'  Oh,  no  ! ' 

'  Or — thirty.  I  am  sure  thirty  were  ample  !  Say 
thirty  guineas  a  year,  dear  sir ;  and  leave  me  my  character. ' 

'  Nonsense,'  he  answered,  a  trifle  discomfited.  Strange, 
she  was  seizing  her  old  position.  The  weapon  he  had 
wrought  for  her  punishment  was  being  turned  against 
himself. 

'  Or,  I  don't  know  that  thirty  is  not  too  much  ! '  she 
continued,  her  eyes  unnaturally  bright,  her  voice  keen 
as  a  razor.  '  'Twould  have  been  enough  if  offered 
through  your  lawyers.  But  at  your  own  mouth.  Sir 
George,  ten  shillings  a  week  should  do,  and  handsomely  ! 
AVhich  reminds  me — it  was  a  kind  thought  to  come  your- 
self to  see  me  ;  I  wonder  why  you  did.' 

'Well,'  he  said,  'to  be  frank,  it  was  Dr.  Adding- 
ton ' 

'Oh,  Dr.  Addington — Dr.  Addington  suggested  it! 
Because  I  fancied — it  could  not  give  you  pleasure  to  see 
me  like  this  ? '  she  continued  with  a  flashing  eye,  her 
passion  for  a  brief  moment  breaking  forth.  '  Or  to  go 
back  a  month  or  two  and  call  me  child  ?  Or  to  speak  to 
me  as  to  your  chambermaid  ?  Or  even  to  give  me  ten 
shillings  a  week  ?  ' 


364  THE   CASTLE  INN 

'  No, '  he  said  gravely  ;  '  perhaps  not,  my  dear. ' 

She  Avinced  and  her  eyes  flashed;  but  she  controlled 
herself.  'Still,  I  shall  take  your  ten  shillings  a  week,' 
she  said.  '  xVnd — and  is  that  all  ?  Or  is  there  anything 
else  ? ' 

'  Only  this,'  he  said  firmly.  '  You'll  please  to  remem- 
ber that  the  ten  shillings  a  week  is  of  your  own  choos- 
ing. You'll  do  me  that  justice  at  least.  A  hundred 
guineas  a  year  was  the  allowance  I  proposed.  And — I  bet 
a  guinea  you  ask  for  it,  my  dear,  before  the  year  is  out  ! ' 

She  was  like  a  tigress  outraged;  she  writhed  under  the 
insult.  And  yet,  because  to  give  vent  to  her  rage  were 
also  to  bare  her  heart  to  his  eyes,  she  had  to  restrain  her- 
self, and  endure  even  this  with  a  scarlet  cheek.  She  had 
thought  to  shame  him  by  accepting  the  money  he  offered; 
by  accepting  it  in  the  barest  form.  The  shame  was  hers; 
it  did  not  seem  to  touch  him  a  whit.  At  last,  '  You  are 
mistaken,'  she  answered,  in  a  voice  she  strove  to  render 
steady.  *'  I  shall  not  !  And  now,  if  there  is  nothing 
more,  sir ' 

'  There  is,'  he  said.     '  Are  you  sufficiently  punished  ?  ' 

She  looked  at  him  wildly — suddenly,  irresistibly  com- 
pelled to  do  so  by  a  new  tone  in  his  voice.  '  Punished  ! ' 
she  stammered,  almost  inaudibly.     '  For  what  ?  ' 

'  Do  you  not  know  ?  ' 

'  No,'  she  muttered,  her  heart  fluttering  strangely. 

'For  this  travesty,'  he  answered;  and  coolly,  as  he 
stood  before  her,  he  twitched  the  sleeve  of  her  shaj^eless 
gown,  looking  masterfully  down  at  her  the  while,  so  that 
her  eyes  fell  befoi'e  his.  '  Did  you  think  it  kind  to  me  or 
fair  to  me,'  he  continued,  almost  sternly,  '  to  make  that 
difficult,  Julia,  which  my  honour  required,  and  which 
you  knew  that  my  honour  required  ?  Which,  if  I  had 
not  come  to  do,  you  would  have  despised  me  in  your 
heart,  and  presently  with  your  lips  ?     Did  you  think  it 


A   HANDSOME  ALLOWANCE  365 

fair  to  widen  tlie  distance  between  us  by  this — this  piece 
of  play-acting  ?     Give  me  your  hand.' 

She  obeyed,  trembling,  tongue-tied.  He  held  it  an 
instant,  looked  at  it,  and  dropped  it  almost  contemptu- 
ously. 'It  has  not  cleaned  that  step  before,'  he  said. 
'  Now  put  up  your  hair.' 

She  did  so  with  shaking  fingers,  her  cheeks  pale,  tears 
oozing  from  under  her  lowered  eyelashes.  He  devoured 
her  with  his  gaze. 

'  Now  go  to  your  room,'  he  said.  '  Take  off  that  rag 
and  come  to  me  properly  dressed.' 

'  How  ?  '  she  whispered. 

'  As  my  wife. ' 

'  It  is  impossible,'  she  cried  with  a  gesture  of  despair; 
'  It  is  impossible.' 

'  Is  that  the  answer  you  would  have  given  me  at 
Manton  Corner  ? ' 

'  Oh  no,  no  ! '  she  cried.     '  But  everything  is  changed.' 

'  Nothing  is  changed.' 

'You  said  so,'  she  retorted  feverishly.  'You  said 
that  it  was  changed  ! ' 

'  And  have  you,  too,  told  the  whole  truth  ? '  he  re- 
torted. '  Go,  silly  child  !  If  you  are  determined  to  play 
Pamela  to  the  end,  at  least  you  shall  play  it  in  other  guise 
than  this.  'Tis  impossible  to  touch  you  !  And  yet,  if 
you  stand  long  and  tempt  me,  I  vow,  sweet,  I  shall  fall  ! ' 

To  his  astonishment  she  burst  into  hysterical  laughter. 
'  I  thought  men  wooed — with  promises  ! '  she  cried. 
'  Why  don't  you  tell  me  I  shall  have  my  jewels;  and  my 
box  at  the  Opera  and  the  King's  House  ?  And  go  to 
Vauxhall  and  the  Masquerades  ?  And  have  my  frolic  in 
the  pit  with  the  best  ?  And  keep  my  own  woman  as  ugly 
as  I  please  ?  He  did  ;  and  I  said  Yes  to  him  !  Why 
don't  you  say  the  same  ?  ' 

Sir  George  was  prepared  for  almost  anything,  but  not 


366  THE  CASTLE  IXN 

for  that.  His  face  grew  dark.  '  He  did  ?  AVho  did  ?  ' 
he  asked  grimly,  his  eyes  on  her  face. 

'  Lord  Almeric  !  And  I  said  Yes  to  him — for  three 
hours. ' 

'  Lord  Almeric  ?  ' 

'Yes  !  For  three  hours/  she  answered  with  a  laugh, 
half  hysterical,  half  despairing.  '  If  you  must  know,  I 
thought  you  had  carried  me  off  to — to  get  rid  of  my 
claim — and  me  !  I  thought — I  thought  you  had  only 
been  playing  with  me,'  she  continued,  involuntarily 
betraying  by  her  tone  how  deep  had  been  her  misery. 
'  I  was  only  Pamela,  and  'twas  cheaper,  I  thought,  to 
send  me  to  the  Plantations  than  to  marry  me.' 

'  And  Lord  Almeric  offered  you  marriage  ?  ' 

'I  might  have  been  my  lady,'  she  cried  in  bitter 
abasement.     'Yes.' 

'  And  you  accepted  him  ?  ' 

'  Yes  !     Yes,  I  accepted  him.' 

'  And  then — 'Pon  honour,  ma'am,  you  are  good  at  sur- 
prises. I  fear  I  don't  follow  the  course  of  events,'  Sir 
George  said  icily. 

'  Then  I  changed  my  mind — the  same  day,'  she  replied. 
She  was  shaking  on  her  feet  with  emotion;  but  in  his 
jealousy  he  had  no  pity  on  her  weakness.  '  You  know, 
a  woman  may  change  her  mind  once.  Sir  George,'  she 
added  with  a  feeble  smile. 

'I  find  that  I  don't  know  as  much  about  women — as 
I  thought  I  did,'  Sir  George  answered  grimly.  '  You 
seem,  ma'am,  to  be  much  sought  after.  One  man  can 
hardly  hope  to  own  you.  Pray  have  you  any  other  affairs 
to  confess  ? ' 

'  I  have  told  you — all,'  she  said. 

His  face  dark,  he  hung  a  moment  between  love  and 
anger;  looking  at  her.  Then,  'Did  he  kiss  you?'  he 
said  between  his  teeth. 


A  HANDSOME  ALLOWANCE  367 

'  No  ! '  she  cried  fiercely. 

'  You  swear  it  ?  ' 

She  flashed  a  look  at  him. 

But  he  had  no  mercy.  '  Why  not  ? '  he  persisted, 
moving  a  step  nearer  her.  '  You  were  betrothed  to  him. 
You  engaged  yourself  to  him,  ma'am.     Why  not  ?  ' 

'  Because — I  did  not  love  him,'  she  answei*ed  so  faintly 
he  scarcely  heard. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath.     '  May  I  kiss  you  ?  '  he  said. 

She  looked  long  at  him,  her  face  quivering  between 
tears  and  smiles,  a  great  joy  dawning  in  the  depths  of  her 
eyes.  '  If  my  lord  wills,'  she  said  at  last,  '  when  I  have 
done  his  bidding  and — and  changed — and  dressed  as ' 

But  he  did  not  wait. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE    CLEEK    OF   THE    LEASES 

When"  Sir  George  left  the  house;,  an  hour  later,  it  hap- 
pened that  the  first  person  he  met  in  the  street  was  Mr. 
Fishwick.  For  a  day  or  two  after  the  conference  at  the 
Castle  Inn  the  attorney  had  gone  about,  his  ears  on  the 
stretch  to  catch  the  coming  footstep.  The  air  round  him 
quivered  with  expectation.  Something  would  happen. 
Sir  George  would  do  something.  But  with  each  day  that 
passed  eventless,  the  hope  and  expectation  grew  weaker; 
the  care  with  which  the  attorney  avoided  his  guest's  eyes, 
more  marked ;  until  by  noon  of  this  day  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  if  Sir  George  came  at  all,  it  would  be  as 
the  wolf  and  not  as  the  sheep-dog.  While  Julia,  proud 
and  mute,  was  resolving  that  if  her  lover  came  she  would 
save  him  from  himself  by  showing  him  how  far  he  had  to 
stoop,  the  attorney  in  the  sourness  of  defeat  and  a  barren 
prospect — for  he  scarcely  knew  which  way  to  turn  for 
a  guinea — was  resolving  that  the  ewe-lamb  must  be 
guarded  and  all  iDrecautions  taken  to  that  end. 

When  he  saw  the  gentleman  issue  from  his  door  there- 
fore, still  more  when  Sir  George  with  a  kindly  smile  held 
out  his  hand,  a  condescension  which  the  attorney  could 
not  remember  that  he  had  ever  extended  to  him  before, 
Mr.  Fishwick's  prudence  took  fright.  '  Too  much  hon- 
oured. Sir  George,'  he  said,  bowing  low.  Then  stiffly, 
and  looking  from  his  visitor  to  the  house  and  back  again, 
'  But,  pardon  me,  sir,  if  there  is  any  matter  of  business. 


A   CLERK  OF  THE  LEASES  369 

any  offer  to  be  made  to  my  client,  it  were  Avell,  I  think — 
if  it  were  made  through  me.' 

'  I  thank  you,'  Sir  George  answered.  '  I  do  not  think 
that  there  is  anything  more  to  he  done.  I  have  made 
my  offer.' 

'  Oh  ! '  the  lawyer  cried. 

'  And  it  has  been  accepted,'  Soane  continued,  smiling 
at  his  dismay.  '  I  believe  that  you  have  been  a  good 
friend  to  your  client,  Mr.  Fish  wick.  I  shall  be  obliged 
if  you  will  allow  her  to  remain  under  your  roof  until  to- 
morrow, when  she  has  consented  to  honour  me  by  becom- 
ing my  wife.' 

'  Your  wife  ? '  Mr.  Fishwick  ejaculated,  his  face  a 
picture  of  surprise.     '  To-morrow  ?  ' 

'  I  brought  a  licence  with  me,'  Sir  George  answered. 
'  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  secure  the  services  of  a  clergy- 
man.' 

The  tears  stood  in  Mr.  Fishwick's  eyes,  and  his  voice 
shook.  'I  felicitate  you,  sir,'  he  said,  taking  off  his 
hat.  '  God  bless  you,  sir.  Sir  George,  you  are  a  very 
noble  gentleman  ! '  And  then,  remembering  himself, 
he  hastened  to  beg  the  gentleman's  pardon  for  the  lib- 
erty he  had  taken. 

Sir  George  nodded  kindly.  '  There  is  a  letter  for  you 
in  the  house,  Mr.  Fishwick,'  he  said,  'which  I  was 
asked  to  convey  to  you.     For  the  present,  good-day.' 

Mr.  Fishwick  stood  and  watched  him  go  with  eyes 
wide  with  astonishment;  nor  was  it  until  he  had  passed 
from  sight  that  the  lawyer  turned  and  went  into  his  house. 
On  a  bench  in  the  passage  he  found  a  letter.  It  was  for- 
mally directed  after  the  fashion  of  those  days  '  To  Mr. 
Peter  Fishwick,  Attorney  at  Law,  at  Wallingf ord  in  Berk- 
shire, by  favour  of  Sir  George  Soane  of  Estcombe,  Baronet.' 

'  Lord  save  us,  'tis  an  honour,'  the  attorney  muttered. 
'  What  is  it?  '  and  with  shaking  hands  he  cut  the  tliread 


370  THE  CASTLE  INN 

that  confined  the  packet.      The  letter,  penned  by  Dr. 
Addington,  was  to  this  effect: 

'  Sir, — I  am  directed  by  the  Eight  Honourable  the  Earl 
of  Chatham,  Lord  Keeper  of  His  ]\Iajesty's  Privy  Seal, 
to  convey  to  you  his  lordship's  approbation  of  the  conduct 
(]isi)la3'ed  by  3'OU  in  a  late  transaction.  His  lordship, 
acknowledging  no  higher  claim  to  employment  than  prob- 
ity, nor  any  more  important  duty  in  the  disposition 
of  patronage  than  the  reward  of  integrity,  desires  me  to 
intimate  that  the  office  of  Clerk  of  the  Leases  in  the 
Forest  of  Dean,  which  is  vacant  and  has  been  placed  at 
his  command,  is  open  for  your  acceptance.  He  is  in- 
formed that  the  emoluments  of  the  office  arising  from 
fees  amount  in  good  years  to  five  hundred  pounds,  and 
in  bad  years  seldom  fall  below  four  hundred. 

'  His  lordship  has  made  me  the  channel  of  this  com- 
munication, that  I  may  take  the  opportunity  of  express- 
ing my  regret  that  a  misunderstanding  at  one  time  arose 
between  us.  Accept,  sir,  this  friendly  assurance  of  a 
change  of  sentiment,  and  allow  me  to 

'  Have  the  honour  to  be,  sir, 

*  Your  obedient  servant, 

'  J.  Addington.  ' 

'  Clerk  of  the  Leases — in  the  Forest  of  Dean — have 
been  known  in  bad  years — to  fall  to  four  hundred  ! ' 
Mr.  Fishwick  ejaculated,  his  e3'es  like  saucers.  '  Oh, 
Lord,  I  am  dreaming!  I  must  be  dreaming  !  If  I  don't 
get  my  cravat  untied,  I  shall  have  a  fit  !  Four  hundred 
in  bad  years  !  It's  a — oh,  it's  incredible  !  They'll  not 
believe  it  !     I  vow  they'll  not  believe  it  ! ' 

But  when  he  turned  to  seek  them,  he  saw  that  they 
had  stolen  a  march  on  him,  that  they  knew  it  already 
and  believed  it  !      Between  him   and   the  tiny  jilot  of 


A   CLERK  OF  THE  LEASES  371 

grass,  the  urn,  and  the  espalier,  which  still  caught  the 
last  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  he  surprised  two  happy 
faces  spying  on  his  joy — the  one  beaming  through  a  hun- 
dred puckers  with  a  mother's  tearful  pride;  the  other, 
the  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  and  now  softened  and 
elevated  by  every  happy  emotion. 

Mr.  Dunborough  stood  his  trial  at  the  next  Salisbury 
assizes,  and,  being  acquitted  of  the  murder  of  Mr.  Pom- 
eroy,  was  found  guilty  of  manslaughter.  He  pleaded  his 
clergy,  went  through  the  formality  of  being  branded  in 
the  hand  with  a  cold  iron,  and  was  discharged  on  pay- 
ment of  his  fees.  He  lived  to  be  the  fifth  Viscount 
Dunborough,  a  man  neither  much  worse  nor  much  bet- 
ter than  his  neighbours;  and  dying  at  a  moderate  age — 
in  his  bed,  of  gout  in  the  stomach — escaped  the  misfor- 
tune which  awaited  some  of  his  friends;  who,  living  be- 
yond the  common  span,  found  themselves  shunned  by  a 
Avorld  which  could  find  no  worse  to  say  of  them  than  that 
they  lived  in  their  age  as  all  men  of  fashion  had  lived  in 
their  youth. 

Mr.  Thomasson  was  less  fortunate.  Bully  Pomeroy's 
dying  words  and  the  evidence  of  the  man  Tamplin  were 
not  enough  to  bring  the  crime  home  to  him.  But  repre- 
sentations were  made  to  his  college,  and  steps  were  taken 
to  compel  him  to  resign  his  Fellowship.  Before  these 
came  to  an  issue,  he  was  arrested  for  debt,  and  thrown 
into  the  Fleet.  There  he  lingered  for  a  time,  sinking  into 
a  lower  and  lower  state  of  degradation,  and  making  ever 
more  and  more  piteous  appeals  to  the  noble  pupils  who 
owed  so  much  of  their  knowledge  of  the  world  to  his  guid- 
ance. Beyond  this  point  his  career  is  not  to  be  traced, 
but  it  is  improbable  that  it  was  either  creditable  to  him 
or  edifying  to  his  friends. 

To-day  the  old  Bath  road  is  silent,  or  echoes  only  the 


372  THE   CASTLE  IJVN 

fierce  note  of  tlie  cyclist's  bell.  The  coaches  and  cur- 
ricles, Avigs  and  hoops,  holstered  saddles  and  carriers' 
waggons  are  gone  with  the  beaux  and  fine  ladies  and 
gentlemen's  gentlemen  whose  environment  they  were; 
and  the  Castle  Inn  is  no  longer  an  inn.  Under  the  wide 
eaves  that  sheltered  the  love  passages  of  Sir  George  and 
Julia,  in  the  panelled  halls  that  echoed  the  steps  of  Dutch 
William  and  Duke  Chandos,  through  the  noble  rooms 
that  a  Seymour  built  that  Seymours  might  be  born  and 
die  under  their  frescoed  ceilings,  the  voices  of  boys  and 
tutors  now  sound.  The  boys  are  divided  from  the  men 
of  that  day  by  four  generations,  the  tutors  from  the  man 
we  have  depicted,  by  a  moral  gulf  infinitely  greater. 
Yet  is  the  change  in  a  sense  outward  only;  for  where 
the  heart  of  youth  beats,  there,  and  not  behind  fans  or 
masks,  the  '  Stand ! '  of  the  highwayman,  or  the  '  Charge ! ' 
of  the  hero,  lurks  the  high  romance. 

Nor  on  the  outside  is  all  changed  at  the  Castle  Inn. 
Those  who  in  this  quiet  lap  of  the  "Wiltshire  Downs  are 
busy  moulding  the  life  of  the  future  are  reverent  of  the 
past.  The  old  house  stands  stately,  high-roofed,  almost 
unaltered,  its  great  pillared  portico  before  it;  hard  by  are 
the  Druids'  Mound,  and  Preshute  Church  in  the  lap  of 
trees.  Much  Avater  has  run  under  the  bridge  that  spans 
the  Kennet  since  Sir  George  and  Julia  sat  on  the  parapet 
and  watched  the  Salisbury  coach  come  in;  the  bridge 
that  Avas  of  wood  is  of  brick — but  there  it  is,  and  the 
Kennet  still  floAvs  under  it,  Avatering  the  lawns  and  flow- 
ering shrubs  that  Lady  Hertford  loved.  Still  can  Ave 
trace  in  fancy  the  SAveet-briar  hedge  and  the  border  of 
pinks  which  she  planted  by  the  trim  canal;  and  a  bow- 
shot from  the  great  school  can  lose  all  knowledge  of  the 
present  in  the  crowding  memories  Avhicli  the  Duelling 
Green  and  the  Bowling  Alley,  trodden  by  the  men  and 
women  of  a  past  generation,  awaken  in  the  mind. 


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Being  the  Memoirs  of  Gaston  de  Bonne, 
Sieur  de  Marsac. 

By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WOLF,"  ETC 

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"One  of  the  best  novels  since  'Lorna  Doone.'  It  will  be  read  and  then  re-read  for  tht 
^lerc  pleasure  its  reading  gives.  The  subtle  charm  of  it  is  not  in  merely  transporting  the 
nineteenth-century  reader  to  the  sixteenth,  that  he  may  see  life  as  it  was  then,  but  in  trans- 
forming him  into  a  sixteenth-century  man,  thinking  its  thoughts,  and  living  its  life  in  perfect 
touch  and  sympathy  ...  it  carries  the  reader  out  of  his  present  Hfe,  giving  him  a  new 
and  totally  different  existence  that  rests  and  refreshes  him." — N.  Y.  World. 

"  No  novelist  outside  of  France  has  displayed  a  more  definite  comprehension  of  the  very 
essence  of  mediaeval  French  life,  and  no  one,  certainly,  has  been  able  to  set  forth  a  depiction 
of  it  in  colors  so  vivid  and  so  entirely  in  consonance  with  the  truth.  .  .  .  The  characters 
in  the  tale  are  admirably  drawn,  and  the  narrative  is  nothing  less  than  fascinating  in  its  fine 
flavor  of  adventure." — Beacon,  Boston. 

*'  We  hardly  know  whether  to  call  this  latest  work  of  Stanley  J.  Weyman  a  historical 
lomance  or  a  story  of  adventure.  It  has  all  the  interesting,  fascinating  and  thrilling  charac- 
teristics of  both.  The  scene  is  in  France,  and  the  time  is  that  fateful  eventful  one  which 
culminated  in  Henry  of  Navarre  becoming  king.  Naturally  it  is  a  story  of  plots  and  intrigue, 
of  danger  and  of  the  grand  passion,  abounding  in  intense  dramatic  scenes  and  most  interest- 
ing situations.     It  is  a  romance  which  will  rank  among  the  masterpieces  of  historic  fiction." 

— Advertiser,  Boston. 

"  A  romance  after  the  style  of  Dumas  the  elder,  and  well  worthy  of  being  read  by  thosfl 
who  can  enjoy  stirring  adventures  told  in  true  romantic  fashion.  .  .  .  The  great  person- 
ages of  the  time — Henry  III.  of  Valois,  Henry  IV.,  Rosny,  Rambouillet,  Turcnne — are 
brought  in  skillfully,  and  the  tragic  and  varied  history  of  the  time  forms  a  splendid  frame  in 
which  to  set  the  picture  of  Marsac's  love  and  courage  .  .  .  the  troublous  days  are  well 
described  and  the  interest  is  genuine  and  lasting,  for  up  to  the  very  end  the  author  manages 
effects  which  impel  the  reader  to  go  on  with  renewed  curiosity." — The  Nation. 

"A  genuine  and  admirable  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  not  turn  marry  pages 
before  he  finds  himself  in  the  grasp  of  a  writer  who  holds  his  attention  to  the  very  last  mo- 
ment of  the  story.     The  spirit  of  adventure  pervades  the  whole  from  beginning  to  end.     .     .     . 

It  may  be  said  that  the  narration  is  a  delightful  love  story.  The  interest  of  the  reader 
Is  constantly  excited  by  the  development  of  unexpected  turns  in  the  relation  of  the  principal 
lovers.  The  romance  lies  against  a  background  of  history  truly  painted.  .  .  .  The 
descriptions  of  the  court  life  of  the  period  and  of  the  factional  strifes,  divisions,  hatreds  of  th? 
age,  are  fine.  .  .  .  This  story  of  those  times  is  worthy  of  a  very  high  place  among  histori- 
cal novels  of  recent  years."— Public  Opinion. 

"  Bold,  strong,  dashing,  it  is  one  of  the  best  we  have  read  for  many  years.  We  sat  down 
for  a  cursory  perusal,  and  ended  by  reading  it  delightedly  through.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman 
has  much  of  the  vigor  and  rush  of  incident  of  Dr.  Conan  Doyle,  and  this  book  ranks  worthily 
beside  '  The  White  Company.'  .  .  .  We  very  cordially  recommend  this  book  to  the  jaded 
novel  reader  who  cares  for  manly  actions  more  than  for  morbid  introspection." 

— The  Churchman. 

"The  book  is  not  only  good  literature,  it  is  a  'rattling  good  story,'  instinct  with  the 
spirit  of  true  adventure  and  stirring  emotion.  Of  love  and  peril,  intrigue  and  fighting,  there 
IS  plenty,  and  many  scenes  could  not  have  been  bettered.  In  all  his  adventures,  and  they 
are  many,  Marsac  acts  as  befits  his  epoch  and  his  own  modest  yet  gallant  personality.  Well- 
known  historical  figures  emerge  in  telling  fashion  under  Mr.  Weyman's  discriminating  and 
fascinating  touch." — Athen.«;um. 

"I  cannot  fancy  any  reader,  old  or  young,  not  sharing  with  doughty  Crillon  his  admiration 
for  M.  de  Marsac,  who,  though  no  swashbuckler,  has  a  sword  that  leaps  from  its  scabbard  at  th' 
breath  of  insult.  .  .  .  There  are  several  historical  personages  in  the  novel ;  there  is,  o* 
course,  a  heroine,  of  great  beauty  and  enterprise  ;  but  that  true  '  Gentleman  of  France,' 
M.  dr  Marsac,  with  bis  perseverance  and  valor,  dominates  them  all." 

— Mr.  James  Pavn  in  the  Illustrated  London  News. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00..  91-93  TIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK 


MY  LADY  ROTHA. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  THIRTY  YEARS'  WAR. 
By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

AUTHOK  OF    "a   gentleman    OF   FRANCE,"    "UNDER    THB    RED    ROBE,'' 

"the  house  of  the  wolf." 


With  Eight  lilustrations.    Crown  8vo,  $1.25. 


"  Few  writers  of  fiction  who  have  appeared  in  England  in  the  last  decade  have  (iven 
their  readers  more  satisfaction  than  Mr.  Stanley  J.  Weyman,  and  no  single  writer  of  this 
number  can  be  said  to  have  approached  him,  much  less  tu  have  equaled  him  in  the  romantic 
world  of  the  historical  novel  ...  he  has  the  art  of  story-tellmg  in  the  highest  degree, 
the  art  which  instinctively  divines  the  secret,  the  soul  of  the  story  which  he  tells,  and  the 
rarer  art,  if  it  be  not  the  artlessness,  which  makes  it  as  real  and  as  inevitable  as  life  itself. 
His  characters  are  alive,  human,  unforgetable,  resembling  in  this  "-espect  those  of  Thackeray 
in  historical  lines  and  in  a  measure  those  of  Dumas,  with  whom,  and  not  inaptly,  Mr.  Wey- 
man has  been  compared.  His  lilerature  is  good,  so  good  that  we  accept  it  as  a  matter  of 
course,  as  we  do  that  of  Thackeray  and  Scott.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman's  historical  novels 
will  live.'' — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"...  diflfers  signally  from  Mr.  Weyman's  earlier  published  works.  It  is  treated 
with  the  minuteness  and  loviiigness  of  a  first  story  which  has  grown  up  in  the  mind  of  the 
author  for  years.  .  .  .  Marie  Wort  is  one  of  the  bravest  souls  that  ever  moved  quietly 
along  the  pages  of  a  novel.  She  is  so  unlike  the  other  feminine  characters  whom  Weyman 
has  drawn  that  the  diflference  is  striking  and  adds  significance  to  this  one  book.  .  .  . 
'  My  Lady  Rotha  '  is  full  of  fascinating  interest,  all  the  more  remarkable  in  a  work  adhering 
so  strictly  to  historical  truth." — Evening  Post,  Chicago. 

"This  last  book  of  his  is  brimful  of  action,  rtishing  forward  with  a  roar,  leaving  the 
reader  breathless  at  the  close  ;  for  if  once  begun  there  is  no  stopping  place.  The  concep- 
tion is  unique  and  striking,  and  the  culmination  unexpected.  The  author  is  so  saturated 
with  the  spirit  of  the  times  of  which  he  writes,  that  he  merges  his  personality  in  that  of  the 
supposititious  narrator,  and  the  virtues  and  failings  of  his  men  and  women  are  set  forth  in  a 
fashion  which  is  captivating  from  its  very  simplicity.     It  is  one  of  his  best  novels," 

— Public  Opinion. 

"Readers  of  Mr.  Weyman's  novels  will  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  his  just  pub- 
lished '  My  Lady  Rotha  '  in  every  way  his  greatest  and  most  artistic  production.  We 
know  of  nothing  moie  fit,  both  in  conception  and  execution,  to  be  classed  with  the  immortal 
Waverleys  than  this  his  latest  work.  ...  A  story  true  to  life  and  true  to  the  times 
which  Mr.  Weyman  has  made  such  a  careful  study."    —The  Advertiser,  Boston. 

"  No  one  of  Mr.  Weyman's  books  is  better  than  '  My  Lady  Rotha  '  unless  it  be  '  Under 
the  Red  Robe,'  and  those  who  have  learned  to  like  his  stories  of  the  old  days  when  might 
made  right  will  appreciate  it  thoroughly.     It  is  a  good  book  to  read  and  read  again." 

— New  York  World. 

"...  As  good  a  tale  of  adventure  as  any  one  need  ask  ;  the  picture  of  those  war- 
like times  is  an  excellent  one,  full  of  life  and  color,  the  blare  of  trumpets  and  the  flash  of 
steel  -and  toward  the  close  the  description  of  the  besieged  city  of  Nuremberg  and  of  the 
battle  under  Wallenstein's  entrenchments  is  masterly." — Boston  Traveller. 

"The  loveliest  and  most  admirable  character  in  the  story  is  that  of  a  young  Catholic  girl, 
while  in  painting  the  cruelties  and  savage  barbarities  of  war  at  that  period  the  brush  is  held 
by  an  impartial  hand.  Books  of  adventure  and  romance  are  apt  to  be  cheap  and  sensational. 
Mr.  Weyman's  stories  are  worth  tons  of  such  stuff.  They  are  thrilling,  exciting,  absorbing, 
interesting,  and  yet  clear,  strong,  and  healthy  in  tone,  written  by  a  gentleman  and  a  man  ol 
sense  and  taste." — Sacred  Heart  Review,  Boston. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  outdone  himself  in  this  remarkable  book.  .  .  .  The  whole  story 
li  told  with  consummate  skill.  The  plot  is  artistically  devised  and  enrolled  before  the  read- 
er's eyes.  The  language  is  simple  and  apt,  and  the  descriptions  are  graphic  and  terse.  The 
charm  of  the  story  takes  hold  of  the  reader  on  the  very  first  page,  and  holds  him  spell-bound 
to  the  very  end." — New  Orleans  Picayune. 


LONGMAITS,  GEEEIJ,  &  00.;  91-93  PITTH  AVE.,  ITEW  YORK. 


SHREWSBURY. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  TIME  OF  WILLIAM   AND  MARY. 

By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR  OF   "a   gentleman   OF   FRANCE,"    "UNDER  THE   RED  ROBE,"    "THE   HOUSE  OK  THE 
WOLF,"    "my  lady  ROTHA,"   ETC. 


With  24  Illustrations  by  Claude  A.  Shepperson.    Crown  8vo, 
Cloth,  ornamental,  $  1 .50. 


"  Mr.  Stanley  Weyman  has  written  a  rattling  good  romantic  story  that  is  in  every  way 
worthy  of  the  author  of  the  ever-delightful  '  Gentleman  of  France.'  "—New  York  Sun. 

"  Considered  as  Active  literature,  the  novel  is  an  achievement  worthy  of  high  .  .  . 
praise.  The  characters  are  projected  with  admirable  distinctness ;  the  whole  story  and  its 
incidents  are  well  imagined  and  described ;  the  reader,  while  he  cannot  repress  his  contempt 
for  the  supposed  narrator,  is  always  interested  in  the  storj-,  and  there  is  an  abundance  of 
dramatic  action.  Mr.  Weyman  has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  narrative  style  of  the  period 
without  endeavoring,  evidently,  to  adhere  to  the  vocabulary  and  diction,  or  pecuUanties  of 
syntax.  .  .  .  Again  we  see  that  Mr.  Weyman  has  no  superior  among  living  writers  of 
romance." — Philadelphl^  Press. 

"  Turning  aside  from  mediaeval  French  scenes,  Stanley  J.  Weyman  takes  up  in  'Shrews- 
bury' an  English  theme,  and  he  weaves  from  the  warp  and  woof  of  historj'  and  fancy  a  vivid, 
unique,  close-te.\tured  and  enthralling  romance.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman  has  produced  in 
'  Shrewsbury'  a  novel  that  all  admirers  of  his  former  books  will  be  eager  to  read,  and  that 
will  win  for  him  new  suffrages.     The  illustrations  are  drawn  with  skill  and  appreciation." 

— Beacon,  Boston. 

"  'Shrewsbury'  is  a  magnificent  confirmation  of  Mr.  Weyman's  high  estate  in  the  world 
of  fiction. 

Again  he  has  proved  in  this,  his  latest  novel,  that  the  romantic  treatment  is  capable, 
under  a  masterly  hand,  of  uniting  the  thrill  of  imagination  with  the  dignity  of  real  life.  His 
characters  are  alive,  human,  unforgetable.  His  scenes  are  unhackneyed,  dramatic,  power- 
ful. The  action  is  sustained  and  consistent,  sweeping  one's  interest  along  irresistibly  to  a 
(iinoiiemeritax  once  logical  and  climactic.  And  through  it  all  there  glows  that  literary  charm 
which  makes  his  stories  live  even  as  those  of  Scott  and  Dumas  live.     ... 

The  whole  novel  is  a  work  of  genuine  literary  art,  fully  confirming  the  prediction  that 
when  the  author  of  'A  Gentleman  of  France'  once  began  to  deal  with  the  historical  materials 
of  his  own  country  he  would  clinch  his  title  to  be  ranked  among  the  greatest  of  romantic 
writers." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"Aside  from  the  storj',  which  is  remarkably  well  told,  this  book  is  of  value  for  its  fine 
pen  pictures  of  William  of  Orange  and  his  leading  courtiers — a  story  of  absorbing  interest, 
but  .It  differs  materially  from  any  of  his  other  works.  The  best  thing  in  the  book  is  the 
sketch  of  Ferguson,  the  spy,  and  of  the  remarkable  hold  which  he  obtained  over  prominent 
men  by  means  of  his  cunning  and  his  malignancy.  He  dominates  every  scene  in  which  he 
appears.  Some  of  these  scenes  have  rarely  been  excelled  in  historical  fiction  for  intensity  of 
interest.  Those  who  have  not  read  it,  and  who  are  fond  of  the  romance  of  adventure,  will 
find  it  fulfils  Mr.  Balfour's  recent  definition  of  the  ideal  novel — something  which  makes  us 
forget  for  the  time  all  worry  and  care,  and  transports  us  to  another  and  more  picturesque  age." 

— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  A  most  readable  and  entertaining  story.  .  .  .  Ferguson  and  Smith,  the  plotters, 
the  mothers  of  the  duke  and  Mary  the  courageous,  who  became  the  wife  of  Price,  all  seem 
very  real,  and  with  the  other  characters  and  the  adventures  which  they  go  through  make  up 
an  interest-holding  book  which  can  be  honestly  recommended  to  every  reader  of  fiction." 

— Boston  Times. 

"  A  romance  written  in  the  author's  best  vein.  The  character  drawing  is  particularly 
admirable,  and  Richard  Price,  Ferguson,  King  William  and  Brown  stand  out  in  strong  relief 
and  with  the  most  expressive  vitality.  The  storv'  is  also  interesting  and  contains  many 
strong  scenes,  and  one  follows  the  adventures  of  the  various  characters  with  unabated  in- 
terest from  first  page  to  last."— Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 


LONaMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  91-93  FIETH  AVE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  RED  COCKADE. 

A  NOVEL  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

fcUTHOK  OF    "a    gentleman    OF    FRANCE,"    "UNDER    THE    RED     ROBE,"  "  THE    HOUSE    OF 
THE  WOLF,"    "my  lady   ROTHA,"    ETC 


With  48  Illustrations  by  R.   Caton   Woodvllle.    Crown  8vo, 
Cloth,  ornamental,  $  1 .50. 


"Deser\-es  a  place  among  the  best  historical  fictiop  of  the  latter  part  of  this  century.  . 
.  .  The  gradual  maddening  of  the  people  by  agitators,  the  rising  of  those  who  have  re- 
venges to  feed,  the  burnings  and  the  outrages  are  described  in  a  masterly  way.  The  attack 
on  the  castle  of  .St.  Aiais,  the  hideous  death  of  the  steward,  the  looting  of  the  great  building, 
and  the  escape  of  the  young  lovers — these  incidents  are  told  in  that  breathless  way  which 
Weyman  has  made  familiar  in  other  stories.  It  is  only  when  one  has  finished  the  book  and 
has  gone  back  to  reread  certain  passages  that  the  dramatic  power  and  the  sustained  passion 
of  these  scenes  are  clearly  felt." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  'The  Red  Cockade,'  a  story  of  the  French  Revolution,  shows,  in  the  first  place,  care- 
ful study  and  deliberate,  well-directed  effort.  Mr.  Weyman  .  .  .  has  caught  the  spirit 
of  the  times.  .  .  .  The  book  is  brimful  of  romantic  incidents.  It  absorbs  one's  interest 
from  the  first  page  to  the  last;  it  depicts  human  character  with  truth,  and  it  causes  the  good 
and  brave  to  triumph.     In  a  word,  it  is  real  romance." — Syracuse  Post. 

"We  have  in  this  novel  a  powerful  but  not  an  exaggerated  study  of  the  spirit  of  the  high 
bom  and  the  low  born  which  centuries  of  aristocratic  tyranny  and  democratic  suffering  en- 
gendered in  France.  It  is  history  which  we  read  here,  and  not  romance,  but  history  which 
is  so  perfectly  written,  so  veritable,  that  it  blends  with  the  romantic  associations  in  which  it 
is  set  as  naturally  as  the  history  in  Shakespeare's  plays  blends  with  the  poetry  which  vital- 
izes and  glorifies  it." — Mail  and  E.xpress,  New  York. 

"  It  will  be  scarcely  more  than  its  due  to  say  that  this  will  always  rank  among  Weyman's 
best  work.  In  the  troublous  times  of  1789  in  France  its  action  is  laid,  and  with  marvellous 
skill  the  author  has  delineated  the  most  striking  types  of  men  and  women  who  made  the  Rev- 
olution so  terrible." — New  York  World. 

"'The  Red  Cockade'  is  a  novel  of  events,  instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  eighteenth cen- 
turj'  and  full  of  stirring  romance.  The  tragic  period  of  the  French  Revolution  forms  a  frame 
in  which  to  set  the  adventures  of  Adrien  du  Pont,  Vicomte  de  Saux,  and  the  part  he  plays 
in  those  days  of  peril  has  a  full  measure  of  dramatic  interest.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman  has 
evidently  studied  the  history  of  the  revolution  with  a  profound  realization  of  its  intense 
tragedy." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  The  action  of  the  story  is  rapid  and  powerful.  The  Vicomte's  struggle  with  his  own 
prejudices,  his  unhappy  position  in  regard  to  his  friends,  the  perils  he  encounters,  and  the 
great  bravery  he  shows  in  his  devotion  to  Denise  are  strikingly  set  forth,  while  the  histoncal 
background  is  made  vivid  and  convincing— the  frenzy  caused  bv  the  fall  of  the  Bastile,  the 
attacks  of  the  mob,  the  defence  and  strateg>-  of  the  nobility,  all  being  described  with  dra- 
matic  skill  and  verisimilitude.  It  is  a  fascinating  and  absorbing  tale,  which  carries  the  reader 
with  it,  and  impresses  itself  upon  the  mind  as  only  a  novel  of  unusual  ment  and  power 
can  do." — Boston  Beacon. 

"The  story  gives  a  view  of  the  times  which  is  apart  from  the  iisual,  and  marked  with  a 
fine  study  of  history  and  of  human  conditions  and  impulse  on  Mr  Weyman  s  part.  Regard- 
ing his  varied  and  well-chosen  characters  one  cares  only  to  say  that  they  are  full  of  mterest 
and  admirably  portrayed.  ...  It  is  one  of  the  most  spinted  stones  of  the  hour,  and  one 
of  the  most  delightfully  freighted  with  suggestion."— Chicago  Interior. 

"With  so  striking  a  character  for  his  hero,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  Mr  Weyman  has 
evolved  a  story  that  for  ingenuity  of  plot  and  felicity  of  treatment  is  equal  1°  some  of  his 
best  efforts,  f  .  .  '  The  Red  Cockade  '  is  one  of  the  unmistakably  strong  histoncal  ro- 
mances of  the  season."— Boston  Herald. 

"We  are  greatly  mistaken  if  the  '  Red  Cockade'  does  not  take  rank  with  the  very 
best  book  that  Mr.  Weyman  has  written." — Scotsman. 

LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  00,  91-93  PITTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK. 


FOR  THE  WHITE  ROSE  OF  ARNO 

A  Story  of  the  Jacobite   Rising  of  1  745 
By   OWEN    RHOSCOMYL 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  JEWEL   OF  YNYS    GALON,"  "  BATTLEMENT  AND  TOWER  " 

ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.25 


"  His  'Jewel  of  Ynys  Galon,'  was  a  splendid  story  of  piracy  on  the  Welsh  coast. 
His  '  Battlement  and  Tower '  was  a  good  story  of  Prince  Rupert's  day.  ...  A  third 
romance,  '  For  the  White  Rose  of  Arno,'  a  story  of  the  Jacobite  rising  of  1745,  is  pic- 
turesque and  exciting.  It  can  be  recommended  to  every  lover  of  a  fine  romantic  melo- 
drama."—Express,  Buffalo,  N.Y. 

"There  are  plenty  of  stirring  events  in  the  story,  love,  treachery,  and  revenge 
fighting  at  cross-purposes.  One  of  the  most  graphic  descriptions  is  that  of  the  wed- 
ding of  the  hero  and  heroine.  Mr.  Rhoscomyl  has  a  picturesque  imagination,  and  he 
paints  vividly  with  bold,  true  strokes.  .  .  .  The  author  has  studied  the  period  of 
which  he  writes  with  great  care.  He  has  not  allowed  his  imagination  to  run  away 
with  historical  facts,  and  the  book  will  appeal  not  only  to  lovers  of  romance  and  adven- 
ture, but  to  students  of  English  history."— Gazette,  Colorado  Springs. 

"The  'White  Rose  of  Arno'  will  delight  all  lovers  ofagood  romantic  novel." 

— Eagle,  Brooklyn,  N.  V. 

"...  in  this  tale  we  are  given  a  most  stirring  picture  of  the  time  of  Charles 
Edward,  the  Pretender,  and  his  devoted  supporters.  Nearly  all  of  the  incidents  take 
place  amid  the  hills  and  vales  of  beautiful  Wales,  and  the  contrast  between  scenery 
and  wild  human  passions  does  much  to  heighten  the  effect  of  the  story,  which  is  very 
well  told.  The  author  is  a  Welshman,  and  the  scenes  he  depicts  one  feels  still  burn 
within  his  soul ;    hence  his  narrative  is  in  the  highest  degree  animated  and  forceful." 

— Evening  Transcript,  Boston. 

"...  The  story  never  lags  for  a  moment,  nor  sags  from  its  pitch  of  high 
heroism  .  .  .  Some  of  the  scenes  rival  those  others,  well  known,  and,  indeed, 
famous  in  '  David  Balfour,'  and  '  Kidnapped.'  .  .  .  It  is  a  splendid  story.  .  .  . 
Prince  Charles  figures  more  as  a  shadow  in  the  background  than  a  leader,  but  he  im- 
presses himself  vividly  as  a  great  personal  inspiration." — Times-Herald,  Chicago. 

"Owen  Rhoscomyl  has  already  written  some  rare  stories  of  the  wars  of  the  Com- 
monwealth that  have  met  with  a  splendid  showing  of  practical  appreciation  by  a 
world-wide  circle  of  readers.  This  latest  novel  by  the  pleasing  Welsh  writer  is  one  of 
the  most  powerful  romances  that  have  emanated  from  his  pen,  and  will  doubtless  re- 
ceive as  graceful  a  welcome  to  fiction  literature  as  his  previous  efforts  have  done.  It 
is  a  stirring  story  of  Wales  when  the  Roundheads  were  warring  against  the  cavaliers, 
and  Charles  I  of  England  lost  his  head  and  his  coveted  throne.  .The  story  is  brimful 
of  fighting,  of  hard  travel  and  riding,  and  old-time  love  making,  and  the  flavor  of  old 
world  chivalry  in  the  tenderer  portions  of  the  novel  is  charming  and  complete.  With 
the  pen  of  a  realist,  the  author  hurries  his  readers  back  to  live  over  the  dead,  old  wars, 
to  dwell  in  strange  Welsh  castles  that  long  ago  crumbled  into  dust,  and  to  view  the 
history  and  romances  of  those  early  days  as  something  tangible  with  our  own  exist- 
ences. The  style  is  always  active,  virile  and  picturesque,  and  there  is  not  a  dull  or 
tame  chapter  in  the  book." — Courier,  Boston. 

"The  story  is  told  with  spirit,  and  holds  the  attention  without  effort.  The  action 
is  swift,  the  episodes  stirring,  the  character  drawing  admirable,  and  the  style  good. 
The  ultimate  defeat  of  the  Pretender,  and  the  final  denouement  are  tragic  in  their 
intensity,  and  powerfully  pictured." — Brooklyn  Times. 

"  This  is  a  really  stirring  story,  full  of  wild  adventure,  yet  having  an  atmosphere 
of  historic  truthfulness,  and  conveying  incidentally  a  good  deal  of  information  that  is 
evidently  based  upon  fresh  study." — Times,  Philadelphia. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  91-93  riFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE   CHEVALIER  D'AURIAC. 

A  ROMANCE. 
By    S.    LEVETT    YEATS. 

AUTHOR   OF    "the    HONOUR   OF    SAVELLI,"    ETC.,    ETC. 


1  2mo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  The  story  is  full  of  action,  it  is  alive  from  cover  to  cover,  and  is  so  compact  with  thrill- 
ing adventure  that  there  is  no  room  for  a  dull  page.  The  chevalier  tells  his  own  story,  but 
he  is  the  most  charming  of  egoists.  He  wins  our  sympathies  from  the  outset  by  his  boyish 
naivete,  his  downright  manliness  and  bravery.  .  .  .  Not  only  has  Mr.  Yeats  written  an 
e.xcellent  tale  of  adventure,  but  he  has  shown  a  close  study  of  character  which  does  not  bor- 
row merely  from  the  trappings  of  historical  actors,  but  which  denotes  a  keen  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  and  a  shrewd  insight  into  the  workings  of  human  motives.  .  .  .  The 
fashion  of  the  period  is  kept  well  in  mind,  the  style  of  writing  has  just  that  touch  of  old- 
fashioned  formality  which  serves  to  veil  the  past  from  the  present,  and  to  throw  the  lights 
and  shadows  into  a  harmony  of  tone.  .  .  .  The  work  has  literary  quality  of  a  genuine 
sort  in  it,  which  raises  it  above  a  numerous  host  of  its  fellows  in  kind.  ' 

^BooK.MAN,  New  York. 

"...  A  story  of  Huguenot  days,  brim  full  of  action  that  takes  shape  in  plots,  sud- 
den surprises,  fierce  encounters,  and  cunning  intrigues.  The  author  is  so  saturated  with  the 
times  of  which  he  writes  that  the  storj'  is  realism  itself.  .  .  .  The  story  is  brilliant  and 
thrilling,  and  whoever  sits  down  to  give  it  attention  will  reach  the  last  page  with  regret." 

— Globe,  Boston. 

"...  A  tale  of  more  than  usual  interest  and  of  genuine  literary  merit.  .  .  . 
The  characters  and  scenes  in  a  sense  seem  far  removed,  yet  they  live  in  our  hearts  and  seem 
contemporaneous  through  the  skill  and  philosophic  treatment  of  the  author.  Those  men  and 
women  seem  akin  to  us ;  they  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  are  impelled  by  human  motives  as  we 
are.     One  cannot  follow  the  fortunes  of  this  hero  without  feeling  refreshed  and  benefited." 

— Globe-Democrat,  St.  Louis. 

"A  book  that  may  be  recommended  to  all  those  who  appreciate  a  good,  hearty,  rollicking 
story  of  adventure,  with  lots  of  fierce  fighting  and  a  proper  proportion  of  love-making.  .  .  . 
There  is  in  his  novel  no  more  history  than  is  necessary,  and  no  tedious  detail ;  it  is  a  story 
inspired  by,  but  not  slavishly  followmg,  history.  .  .  .  The  book  is  full  of  incident,  and 
from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last  the  action  never  flags.  ...  In  the  Chevalier  the  author 
has  conceived  a  sympathetic  character,  for  d' Auriac  is  more  human  and  less  of  a  puppet  than 
most  heroes  of  historical  novels,  and  consequently  there  are  few  readers  who  will  not  find  en- 
joyment in  the  storj'  of  his  thrilling  adventures.  .  .  .  This  book  should  be  read  by  all 
who  love  a  good  story  of  adventures.     There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  it." — New  York  Sun. 

"A  capital  stor>-  of  the  Dumas- Weyman  order.  .  .  .  The  first  chapters  bring  one 
right  into  the  thick  of  the  story,  and  from  thence  on  the  interest  is  unflagging.  The  Cheva- 
lier himself  is  an  admirably  studied  character,  whose  straightforwardness  and  simplicity, 
braver>',  and  impulsive  and  reckless  chivalrj',  win  the  reader's  sympathy.  D'Auriac  has 
something  of  the  intense  vitality  of  Dumas's  heroes,  and  the  delightful  improbabilities  through 
which  he  passes  so  invincibly  have  a  certain  human  quality  which  renders  them  akin  to  our 
day.     Mr.  Levett  Yeats  has  done  better  in  this  book  than  m  anything  else  he  has  written." 

— Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

"The  interest  in  the  story  does  not  lag  for  an  instant;  all  is  life  and  action.  The  pict- 
uresque historical  setting  is  admirably  pamted,  and  the  characters  are  skilfully  drawn,  espe- 
:;ially  that  of  the  king,  a  true  monarch,  a  brave  soldier,  and  a  gentleman.  The  Chevalier  is 
the  typical  hero  of  romance,  fearing  nothing  save  a  stain  on  his  honor,  and  with  such  a  hero 
there  can  not  but  be  vigor  and  e-xcitement  in  every  page  of  the  story." 

—Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

"  As  a  story  of  adventure,  pure  and  simple,  after  the  type  originally  seen  in  Dumas's 
'Three  Musketeers,'  the  book  is  well  worthy  of  high  praise." — Outlook,  New  York. 

"  We  find  all  the  fascination  of  mediaeval  France,  which  have  made  Mr.  ^Veyman's  stories 
such  general  favorites.  .  .  .  We  do  not  see  how  any  intelligent  reader  can  take  it  up 
without  keen  enjoyment. "^Living  Church,  Chicago. 


LONGMANS,  GKEEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  PIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK. 


THE    JEWEL   OF   YNYS    GALON: 

BEING   A    HITHERTO    UNPRINTED    CHAPTER    IN 
THE    HISTORY  OF  THE    SEA    ROVERS. 

By  OWEN   RHOSCOMYL. 


With  1  2  Illustrations  by  Lancelot  Speed, 
Crown  8vo,  Clotli,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  The  tale  is  exceptionally  well  told  ;  the  descriptive  passages  are  strong  and  viv' 
id  without  being  over-elaborated  ;  and  the  recital  of  fights  and  adventures  on  sea  and 
land  is  thrilling,  without  leading  to  any  excess  of  horrors.  The  characters  in  the  book 
are  not  all  villians,  but  the  progress  of  the  narrative  is  lighted  up  by  the  ideals  and 
strivings  of  brave  and  honorable  men.  The  book  is  certainly  a  most  attractive  addi- 
tion to  fiction  of  adventure,  for  it  shows  a  fine  degree  of  imagination  on  the  part  of  tlie 
author.  A  glance  at  the  illustrations  by  Lancelot  Speed  will  alone  be  enough  to  incite 
a  reading  of  the  story  from  beginning  to  end." — The  Beacon,  Boston. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  genius — of  the  romantic-realistic  school.  The  story  is  one  of 
pirates  and  buried  treasure  in  an  island  off  the  coast  of  Wales,  and  so  well  is  it  done 
that  it  fascinates  the  reader,  putting  him  under  an  hypnotic  spell,  lasting  long  after  the 
book  has  been  laid  aside.  It  is  dedicated  to  'every  one  whose  blood  rouses  at  a  tale 
of  tall  fights  and  reckless  adventure,'  to  men  and  boys  alike,  yet  there  will  be  keener 
appreciation  by  the  boys  of  larger  growth,  whose  dreams  '  of  buried  treasure  and  of 
one  day  discovering  some  hoard  whereby  to  become  rich  beyond  imagination  '  have 
become  dim  and  blurred  in  the  '  toil  and  struggle  for  subsistence.'  '  The  Jewel  of  Ynys 
Galon'  is  cue  of  the  great  books  of  1895  and  will  live  long." — The  World,  New  York. 

"  It  is  a  splendid  story  of  the  sea,  of  battle  and  hidden  treasure.  This  picture  of 
the  times  of  the  sea  rovers  is  most  skillfully  drawn  in  transparent  and  simple  English, 
and  it  holds  from  cover  to  cover  the  absorbed  interest  of  the  reader." 

— Press,  Philadelphia. 

"  It  is  a  story  after  the  heart  of  both  man  and  boy.  There  are  no  dull  moments  in 
it,  and  we  find  ourselves  impatient  to  get  on,  so  anxious  are  we  to  see  what  the  next 
turn  in  the  events  is  to  bring  forth  ;  and  when  we  come  to  the  end  we  exclaim  in 
sorrow,  "  Is  that  all?  "  and  begin  to  turn  back  the  leaves  and  re-read  some  of  the  most 
exciting  incidents. 

Owen  Rhoscomyl  has  just  the  talents  for  writing  books  of  this  kind,  and  they  are 
worth  a  dozen  of  some  of  the  books  of  to-day  where  life  flows  sluggishly  on  in  a  draw- 
ing-room.   When  the  author  writes  another  we  want  to  know  of  it." — Times,  Boston. 

"  The  style  of  this  thrilling  story  is  intensely  vivid  and  dramatic,  but  there  is 
nothing  in  it  of  the  cheap  sensational  order.  It  is  worthy  a  place  among  the  classics 
for  boys." — Advertiser,  Boston. 

"  The  present  school  of  romantic  adventure  has  produced  no  more  strikingly  im* 
aginative  story  than  this  weird  tale  of  Welsh  pirates  in  the  eighteenth  century.  .  .  . 
A  most  enthralling  tale,  .  .  .  told  with  great  artistic  finish  and  with  intense  spirit. 
It  may  be  recommended  without  reserve  to  every  love';  of  this  class  of  fiction." 

— Ti.MES,  Philadelphia. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  best  things  of  its  kind  that  have  appeared  in  a  long  time.  .  .  . 
We  do  not  know  how  far  this  tale  may  be  taken  to  be  historical,  and,  to  be  frank, 
we  don't  care.  If  these  things  did  not  happen,  thev  might  have  happened,  and  ouglil 
to  have  happened,  and  that  is  enough  for  us.  If  vou  like  'Treasure  Island'  and 
'Kidnapped'  and  the  'White  Company '  and  '  F"rancis  Cludde'  and  '  Lorna  Doone,' 
get  'The  Jewel  of  Ynys  Galon  '  and  read  it.    You  will  not  be  disappointed." 

— Gazette,  Colorado  Springs,  Col. 

"Our  own  interest  in  the  book  led  us  to  read  it  at  a  sitting  that  went  far  into  the 
night.  The  old  Berserker  spirit  is  considerably  abroad  in  these  pages,  and  the  blood 
coursed  the  faster  as  stirring  incident  followed  desperate  situation  ana  daring  enter- 
prise."—Literary  World,  London. 


LOMMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  91-93  PIPTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEE. 


BATTLEMENT  AND  TOWER. 

A   ROMANCE. 

By  OWEN  RHOSCOMYL, 

AUTHOR    OF    "the    JEWEL    OF    YNYS    GALON." 


With   Frontispiece    by   R.    Caton   Woodville.       12mo,   Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  It  is  a  rare  tale  of  the  wars  of  the  Commonwealth.  The  hero,  Howel,  is  a  young 
Welsh  lord  whose  father  gives  him  his  hereditary  sword  and  shield,  and  sends  him  to 
battle  for  the  king.  His  adventures  in  love  and  war  are  intensely  fascinating,  and  the 
reader  puts  down  the  book  with  extreme  reluctance.  The  author  has  carefully  studied 
the  history  of  the  times,  and,  besides  being  a  thrilling  tale,  his  story  is  a  charming 
picture  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  day.    It  is  a  book  well  worth  reading." 

— New  Orleans  Picayune. 

"...  a  powerful  romance  by  Owen  Rhoscomyl  of  the  swashbuckling  days  in 
North  Wales,  when  the  Roundheads  warred  against  the  Cavaliers,  and  Charles  I.  of 
England  lost  his  head,  both  metaphorically  and  literally.  .  .  .  The  picturesque 
and  virile  style  of  the  author,  and  the  remarkable  power  he  displays  in  his  character 
drawing,  place  his  book  among  the  notable  pieces  of  fiction  of  the  year.  There  is 
plenty  of  fighting,  hard  riding,  love-making,  and  blood-letting  in  the  story,  but  the 
literary  touch  given  to  his  work  by  the  author  places  his  product  far  above  the  average 
of  the  many  tales  of  like  character  that  are  now  striving  to  satisfy  the  present  demand 
for  fiction  that  has  power  without  prurience." — World,  New  York. 

"  There  is  a  vein  of  very  pretty  romance  which  runs  through  the  more  stirring 
scenes  of  battle  and  of  siege.  The  novel  is  certainly  to  be  widely  read  by  those  who 
love  the  tale  of  a  well-fought  battle  and  of  gallant  youth  in  the  days  when  men  carved 
their  way  to  fame  and  fortune  with  a  sword." — Advertiser,  Boston. 

"...  a  rattling  story  of  adventure,  privation,  and  peril  in  the  wild  Welsh 
marches  during  the  English  civil  war.  ...  In  this  stirring  narrative  Mr.  Rhos- 
comyl has  packed  away  a  great  deal  of  entertainment  for  people  who  like  exciting 
fiction."— Commercial  Advertiser,  New  York. 

"  There  is  a  flavor  of  old  world  chivalry  in  his  tempestuous  wooing  of  winsome, 
imperious  Barbara,  a  charming  love  idyl.  .  .  .  The  hot  blood  of  the  Welshman 
leads  him  into  many  and  diverse  dangers,  yet  so  gallant  is  he,  so  quick  of  wit,  and 
with  band  ever  on  sword  hilt,  that  one  accompanies  him  with  unflagging  attention.  .  .  . 
The  scenes  of  the  story  are  historic,  and  the  author's  fertile  and  ingenious  imagination 
has  constructed  a  thrilling  tale  in  which  the  dramatic  situations  crowd  thick  and  fast 
upon  each  other." — Free  Press,  Detroit. 

"  Owen  Rhoscomyl,  who  wrote  an  excellent  tale  when  he  penned  '  The  Jewel  of 
Vnys  Galon,'  has  followed  it  with  another,  different  in  kind  but  its  equal  in 
degree.  .  .  .  Deals  with  an  entirely  different  phase  of  Welsh  legend  from  his 
former  story,  for  it  enters  the  domain  of  history.  .  .  .  It  is  full  of  merit,  and  is 
entitled  to  pass  muster  as  one  of  the  successful  novels  of  the  season.  ...  The  plot 
is  involved,  and  there  is  a  mystery  in  it  which  is  not  wrought  out  until  the  concluding 
chapters.  .  .  .  The  story  will  appeal  strongly  to  the  lover  of  romance  and  ad- 
venture."— Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  He  calls  his  book  a  '  mosaic,'  and  if  such  it  be  its  stones  are  the  quaint  customs, 
strange  ways,  and  weird  legends  of  the  Welsh,  welded  by  strong  and  clear  diction  and 
colored  with  the  pigments  of  a  brilliant  fancy.  Gay  pleasures,  stern  war,  and  true  love 
are  powerfully  portrayed,  rivalling  each  other  in  the  interest  of  the  reader.  And 
tliough  the  heroes  and  their  castles  have  l-^ng  been  buried  beneath  the  dust  of  time, 
this  writer  sends  an  electric  current  through  his  pages  making  every  actor  and  his  sur- 
roundings alive  again.  He  brings  each  successive  phase  of  adventure,  love,  or  battle, 
before  the  imagination,  clad  in  language  that  impresses  itself  upon  the  memory  and 
makes  the  book  fascinating." — Republican,  Denver. 

"  His  story  is  a  stirring  one,  full  of  events,  alive  with  action,  and  gilded  with  sen- 
timent of  romance." — Courier,  Boston. 


LONaMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  91-93  riPTH  AVE.,  NEW  TOEK. 


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